Who Lives in Disguise
by duj
Summary: HBPconcurrent and compatible, SPOILERS, COMPLETE! It was the longest, shortest trip back from Hogwarts ever. Nominated in Fifth Multifaceteds
1. A Startling Proposition

A STARTLING PROPOSITION

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle, for their helpful thoughts. This is planned as a mentorship/friendship fic, not a romance. The title of the fic comes from the sphinx's riddle in GoF, ch 31, The Third Task.**

**WARNING: This fic contains HBP-Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

At first, Hermione thought it was her own fault. Returning to school for the sixth year spring term, she'd trudged head down and brooding. Her parents hadn't planned anything special this year, not like their skiing holiday last year, so they'd been delighted but surprised to have her home for Xmas and their questions had been hard to bear. She didn't want to explain why she hadn't stayed with her school friends at Hogwarts, as she had the three previous years. She didn't want to discuss why she hadn't been invited to join her friends at the Weasleys either.

Oh, Ron! She didn't even know what had gone wrong or why, just as he seemed to have finally started to notice her in a romantic way, he'd suddenly been lip-locked with Lavender everywhere she turned. And now they weren't even friends any more, let alone – She gulped and bit the inside of her cheek to keep the shamed angry tears at bay. Stupid, stupid !

No, she hadn't been looking where she was going so, when she cannoned into Professor Snape in the Entrance Hall, she felt his criticisms were deserved. Over-the-top, of course, because he hated all Gryffindors, especially her and her friends, but still deserved. There was nothing to say, nothing at all, until he wound up his scathing denunciation with a startling proposition.

"I believe I should recommend expulsion for an unprovoked attack on a teacher."

Her mouth went dry.

"But, sir -"

"Come along, Miss Granger. We'll see what the headmaster has to say."

He couldn't really have her expelled, of course – only her own head of house or the headmaster had that power and they'd never dream of abusing it like this – but what a horrible start to the term! She could have screamed at the unfairness of everything.

Arriving at the headmaster's office in Snape's wake, she launched into speech.

"Headmaster, it was an accident! I didn't mean to bump into Professor Snape, I just wasn't looking. Please – "

Professor Dumbledore held up his uninjured hand.

"You're not here for a punishment or a reprimand, Hermione. I asked Professor Snape to bring you." He turned to the black-clad man beside her and gave him a steady look over his half-moon spectacles. "We spoke of the necessity for camouflage, Severus, but was this strictly necessary?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. Her eyes flicked back and forth from the headmaster to her smirking teacher.

"I thought it only fitting," Snape said smoothly. "She has previously attacked me more than once without consequence. A few moments of anxiety is a very trifling penalty."

"Nevertheless, it was not an appropriate beginning to our chat. We are agreed on the matter, are we not?"

Black eyes duelled with blue, then surrendered. Thin lips pursed.

"As you say, Headmaster."

Professor Dumbledore motioned Hermione to a chair. Professor Snape strolled to the window and stood, watching the school grounds below, as if removing himself from the conversation.

"I believe you may be able to help me, Hermione," Dumbledore said.

Hermione leaned forward in her chair.

"Of course, sir, if I can."

The younger man snorted.

"Never agree to a request without asking what it entails, Miss Granger."

"Excellent advice, indeed." Old blue eyes twinkled at Hermione. "We've been reconsidering the incident at the Department of Mysteries last June. Professor Snape has helped me with the sequence of events but there are some I'm still not clear about, for instance, why you tried to use Professor Umbridge's Floo to contact the Order. You didn't think of going to Professor Snape?"

She gulped, her face aflame.

"No, sir. It never occurred to us."

"You landed yourselves in very great danger. I'm pleased to say that you all displayed tremendous courage and initiative there. You thoroughly deserved those points Professor McGonagall gave you. Yet the situation could have been avoided if only you'd realised where to get help." He read demurral in her face. "You don't agree?"

Her eyes darted to the straight black back of the man at the window. He hadn't moved.

"I don't think we deserved any points, Headmaster. We were stupid and we got Sirius killed."

"A loss that will be long remembered," Snape muttered with obvious sarcasm.

"Indeed," the headmaster agreed with a hint of steel then turned back to Hermione. "He is sorely missed but, I can assure you, he'd have thought the sacrifice well worth it to alert the world to Riddle's return."

She forced a smile, grateful that Professor Snape was watching the world outside. She wondered why he needed to be there and why the headmaster was asking her when he could have asked Harry in any of their meetings. No, that was silly. Of course, he wouldn't want to upset Harry by bringing up his godfather's death, especially not with questions that would remind him of his own part in it. A cold shiver ran down her back, nevertheless. Why bring it up now, almost seven months later? Why bring it up at all?

"Now, tell me," the headmaster continued, "what do you know of Professor Snape's role in the Order?"

She started and cast a nervous glance towards the window.

"Only – only that he's your spy on the other side. And you trust him implicitly."

"Yet, even so, you didn't think of him."

She studied her clenched hands.

"No, sir. He's – not a very easy man to approach. And Harry -"

"Yes, Harry," sighed the headmaster. "It's quite unfortunate that Harry and Professor Snape seem unable to understand each other but it's more useful to learn from our mistakes than to wallow in them, isn't that so, Severus? When one way fails, look for another."

Hermione stared at Snape in embarrassed fascination. His shoulders twitched and she looked away hastily as he turned.

"As you say, headmaster."

"I find myself in rather a quandary," the placid old voice continued. "So often in the past I've been absent when I was wanted. This year, I've been called away even more frequently and I am as well more conscious of my age and mortality." Hermione's eyes dropped to his blackened withered hand. "It's time to make back-up plans for the future. Since I can't link Harry and Professor Snape directly, I need an intermediary that both will trust if ever the time comes when they need to coordinate their efforts. And I believe, Hermione, that you are the best candidate."

"Me? But – That can't be right, Professor Snape hates – I mean, surely there must be someone Professor Snape trusts more than me! I'm a student_," he hates students_, "and a Gryffindor_," he hates Gryffindors,_ "and – and – he can't want to have to do this with me!" _He hates me_. _And I'm babbling like a fool. Couldn't I Evanesco myself now? _

Professor Snape looked down his large nose at her, his thin lips twisted, as Dumbledore carried on.

"You are of age. You're also hard-working and talented, good at keeping secrets and at manufacturing explanations at a moment's notice. No Order member will suit as well as you. You're in Harry's counsels and on the spot. And, correct me if I'm wrong, you plan to continue following him in any extra-curricular," he paused, twinkling, "adventures."

"Yes, of course, but -"

Professor Snape was suddenly looming over her.

"It came down to a choice between you and young Weasley, Miss Granger. I prefer a know-it-all to a know-nothing. At least you listen when I speak – on those rare occasions you can keep your mouth shut long enough."

She glared at him. Ron wasn't a know-nothing! She'd have told him so but in her ears she suddenly heard Ron's indignant voice, "D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" When had he said that? Years ago, wasn't it, but his attitude hadn't changed, had it? She chewed on her lip, pushing down the warm feeling in her chest at her first-ever praise – sour and grudging and with a slur attached, but a compliment, nonetheless – from the sharp-tongued professor.

"I can't give you an answer now. Like you said, Professor, I need to know what it entails. What would I have to do? And how do I know you won't use it as an excuse -" she trembled at her daring but continued steadily, "- to put Gryffindor into negative points or get my friends in trouble?"

"Are you insinuating that I would abuse my position?" He leaned intimidatingly close.

"N-no, sir, but you find me so insufferable already I can't help feeling it would be foolhardy to extend the time you have to put up with my presence."

That had been bordering on insolent .She waited for the explosion that might earn her a detention but would surely get her off the hook. Black eyes glowered down at her but his response was measured.

"Very true, but not an insoluble problem. I will, of course, deduct points for disrespect or negligence. If you dispute any, the headmaster will adjudicate before they are removed."

"I didn't think you'd agree to that," she confessed unwarily.

"This is not a game," he hissed. "Personal preferences must be set aside. You know my teaching and I know to a whisker," (she blushed and looked down at her clasped hands) "your capabilities as a student. I'll work you hard, without mercy or respite. You'll receive my private tuition in Occlumency, Defense and any other area of study I deem necessary and you will be allowed, moreover, to ask questions on any subject of your choice." He smirked at the eager widening of her eyes. "However, we'll neither seek to pry into each other's secrets nor discuss them with others. I will require your utmost discretion at all times. No one, absolutely no one, is to know of this but we three. Are you willing?"

She stared up at him open-mouthed.

"I'm not interested in the back of your throat, girl. I asked you a question."

"Now, now, Severus, no need for all this heat. Give her some time to think it over," Dumbledore interposed.

Time to think it over? The chance to learn more than she'd ever expected to be taught, by an expert? The chance to pick his brain, to be useful in the war, to help defend her friends and everyone she cared about? Something to do in the long lonely hours she used to spend with Harry and Ron?

"I don't need time," she declared. "Count me in."

Thin lips curled and black eyes gleamed.

"Twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8pm. You may call them detentions for attacking a teacher, if anyone asks." He nodded to her, then to the headmaster, and swished out of the room as she glared at his back. Professor Dumbledore's beard and shoulders gently shook.

"Severus does love his little triumphs, but it won't be recorded against you, of course," he said. "He's just making sure your elevation to the rank of colleague doesn't lead you to forget the proper distance between teacher and student."

Hermione's eyes widened. Was he suggesting? Her and _Snape_? That was just plain ridiculous.

After leaving Professor Dumbledore, she braved the snow for a half-hour visit with Hagrid before returning to the common room to get warm. When she reached the Gryffindor portrait-hole, Harry, Ginny and Ron were arguing with the Fat Lady, who was still hung-over from a holiday binge. Hermione greeted two friends and ignored the third. What was there to say to him, anyhow? He'd made his choice and now couldn't even be civil to her.

"I've got something for you, Harry," she said. "Oh, hang on – password. _Abstinence."_

As soon as they reached the common room, packed with other returning students, she pulled out the scroll Professor Dumbledore had given her for Harry. It was for an appointment the following night. Then Ronwent off with Lavender – only she was still calling him "Won-Won", urgh – and Ginny with Dean, leaving her to hear Harry's news alone. They probably already knew. Hurt burned in her chest and up her throat, nearly choking her. Harry didn't understand. He thought she could make it up with Ron. How? She didn't even know what it was about, let alone how to mend it.

"It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five-hundred-year old wine, Harry, not me," she said tartly.

Then he started talking and she was almost as speechless as she had been in the headmaster's office. How much she'd missed by leaving Professor Slughorn's party early that last night before the holidays and going to bed! And by not joining them at the Burrow.

Malfoy trying to gatecrash and Snape taking him off for a "word"; Harry, obsessed with proving their villainy _(Honestly, if Professor Dumbledore trusted Snape, then why couldn't Harry?)_, following them and listening in… (_'At least he didn't get his nose broken this time,' _she sighed to herself.)

Snape wanting to help Malfoy and being refused _(Refused!)_; Snape accusing him of poisoning Katie _(Harry had the grace not to say, "I told you so," for which she was heartily grateful. Anyway, Malfoy denied it so maybe it wasn't true.)_; Snape's Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy _(He was risking his life to protect Malfoy! **His life?** She'd always known he liked the blond Slytherin but not as much as that!)_; Malfoy's Occlumency lessons with his aunt _(How jealous she'd have been if she hadn't just been offered lessons with Snape - and not just Occlumency!)_

It did sound as if Harry was right, after all. Or maybe just half-right.

Malfoy was planning something shady, but his orders might not have come from Voldemort, not directly, anyway. Harry admitted, when she asked, that neither of them had actually said his name. Snape had referred to "your master", and that might be Voldemort but it might not. Hmm. Pity she couldn't ask the professor without giving away that he'd been followed. He'd know without asking that it must have been Harry under his Invisibility Cloak. And they'd agreed not to "seek to pry into each other's secrets" but he'd told her she could ask questions "on any subject of her choice". She wondered how much he'd let her get away with.

'Nothing, you idiot,' she told herself. 'This is Snape, after all. Nasty, razor-tongued, Gryffindor-hating Snape. It won't be me getting away with things, more like the contrary. I'll have to be on my guard not to let anything slip, especially during Occlumency lessons.'

Yet somehow, every time she thought of starting the lessons her mouth curved into a smile of anticipation. Even news of Lupin's difficulties infiltrating Greyback's pack couldn't dull her hopeful spirits. Questions on any topic of her choice. She couldn't wait.

**A/N: A few lines of dialogue are lifted directly from HBP, ch 17, A Sluggish Memory. **

**Ron's question came from CoS, ch 9, The Writing on the Wall.**


	2. Bury it Deeper

BURY IT DEEPER

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

If Hermione had been dismayed that Snape called their training sessions "detentions", she was shortly even more distressed to find she had no occasion to use the excuse he'd provided because no one cared enough to ask where she was going. Nothing could have brought home more sharply the isolation she'd been battling since the quarrel with Ron.

Harry didn't want to take sides so he divided his time between them. Ginny was pre-occupied with Dean and never came near Hermione except to alternately rave about his sweet helpfulness and grumble at his cloying over-protectiveness – the difference apparently lying in Ginny's mood at the time. And Ron, well, better not to think about Ron or roommates or anything, really, but her studies. School, Snape and Apparition, between those three she had plenty enough to fill her thoughts.

She'd made allowances for Apparition lessons in her study timetable for the year, having recorded in previous years the date the flier had appeared on the common-room noticeboard. She'd been looking forward to learning Apparition ever since first reading about it in _Maddie is a Witch; Introduction to Wizardry for Muggle-borns, _the first book she picked out at Flourish and Blotts on her first trip to Diagon Alley. Her dad had been excited too, but then he was a closet _Star Trek_ fan.

"Beam me up, Scotty, without the beam," he'd marvelled when she showed him the page. He'd stared at the pink-cloaked witch that was disappearing from one page to appear on the facing page, then blinking rapidly in and out from top to bottom, side to side and in kitty-corner style diagonals, for so long she'd had to pick up another book to read in the meantime.

She hoped Apparition was better than other forms of magical transport. Flying on a broom left her backside sore and her nose chapped with cold; thestrals were more cushioned but no more comfortable; and the soot from Floo-travel made her sneeze, fortunately after exiting, not upon entry, or who knew where she could end up? Harry had landed in Knockturn Alley once!

Fitting in twice-weekly sessions with Snape – she refused to call them detentions – had been more of a squeeze. After fiddling around with her timetable for the better half of the evening while her roommates caught up on how each other had spent the holidays, she'd glumly pencilled in a later bedtime four nights a week. She would study an extra hour in bed, with the curtains drawn so she wouldn't disturb anyone. It was a nuisance, but not as much as missing something that might turn up in exams.

Eight p.m. had been a good choice of time, she reflected on her way to the first lesson. She had met few students on the way and no Slytherins on the dungeon level. She raised her hand and knocked twice on the door of Snape's office, then entered and stood just inside. The shadowy room was ringed by shelves full of pickled parts and other potions ingredients.

Snape didn't glance up from his marking.

"Close it and sit down, Miss Granger."

She scrambled across the room and into the chair, her heart suddenly racing.

"How did you know it was me, sir?" Especially since she was a minute early.

His scowling eyes continued travelling down the paper, his long fingers holding a quill with which he was scratching out and scribbling comments. He didn't look up till he'd scrawled the mark at the top and underlined it. Judging by the hand movements, it was a P or a D.

"I can hear you," he said shortly.

"With your mind? I thought you needed -"

He gave an exasperated sigh.

"Your footsteps. I recognise the walk of most of the students in the school. Don't interrupt."

She clamped her lips shut. He was the one interrupting but she knew better than to tell him so.

"I must say, I'm surprised," he drawled. "I'd have thought you knew Legilimency usually requires eye-contact."

She flushed and bit her lip. She did know. Trust him to rub it in. He'd probably never let her forget it.

"Nothing to say?" His eyes glittered in malicious triumph. "Very well, we'll begin. What do you know about Occlumency and Legilimemcy?"

"Occlumency is the magical defense of the mind against external penetration. Legilimency is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind."

"You've been reading _Murchison's Mind-Mastery Manual_. As usual, your memory of the textbook is word perfect." His lips curled at that word. "But what do you understand from those definitions?"

"I'm not sure I understand it properly, sir," Hermione began. She hadn't got very far as she'd only found the book yesterday. Annoyingly, it sealed itself shut for the day every timeshe turned the page. "It's not like mind-reading, I think. More like archaeology – That's the study of -"

"I'm not a complete illiterate in Muggle studies."

"Sorry, sir. Anyhow, I thought it looked like that; examining the fossil record and trying to draw conclusions. You can look at my memories and my thoughts and feelings, but you have to interpret them yourself."

He traced his mouth with his finger, watching her till she squirmed.

"Does this suggest to you any ways of blocking me?"

"I suppose you would either bury it deeper or disconnect the fragments, but I can't imagine how."

"Imagination has never been one of your strong points. You had lessons on Imperio in fourth year. Were you ever able to fight it off? The skills involved are similar."

"No, sir, Harry was the only one who could." Inwardly she was fuming at the gratuitous insult.

"Pity. Stand up and take out your wand. I will attempt to penetrate your mind and you may attempt to defend yourself in any way you can, with or without it."

"But, sir, you haven't explained –"

"Silence! We are establishing a baseline of your natural ability to repel an invader. Brace yourself now. _Legilimens._"

The man and the desk between them vanished into a swirl of bright images. Her dad was lifting her onto a stool to brush her teeth with grown-up toothpaste… she was ripping a page out of a Hogwarts library book… a hefty girl yelped and dropped the hot potato that had been a cupcake in Hermione's lunchbox before she snatched it… she was waiting for the ski-lift with her dad… she was staring, with tears drying on her cheeks, at a troll in the toilets… her mother was spanking her for sneaking out of her birthday party to read her new encyclopedia… her baby sister's coffin was being lowered into the ground…

Tears blinded her as the room came back into focus. She groped for her handkerchief and blew her nose. He waited till she was finished.

"Poor. As I expected."

She seethed but said nothing. Silence was always a safer option.

"Now, close your eyes."

She obeyed.

"Clear your mind and let your emotions go," Snape continued.

Her eyes flew open, shining with sudden understanding.

"Oh! Is that how to disconnect the fragments?" She knew she'd been right about that or he would have mocked her again but it was good to have it confirmed. "You disconnect your emotions from your memories."

He scowled at her.

"Indeed. The first step in Occlumency is to detach memories from their emotional content. Why?"

"You don't normally ask me so many questions, Professor," she stalled.

"I'm trying to teach you to think, Miss Granger. You're all too ready to parrot from your books, but if you are to be of any use you'll need to learn to question what you're told, examine it from all sides and analyse the likely consequences. Well?"

"B-because you can't always interpret accurately without it?"

"Is that an answer or a guess? Highly charged memories are easier to find and more likely to be important, either in themselves or as a weakness to be exploited. If I sense anger, I know how to manipulate you; if I sense love, I know whom to threaten. If I sense guilt, I know what to blackmail you with; if I sense fear, I know how to break you."

She gulped. His calm cool voice left no doubt that he was speaking from experience.

"Your emotions are a beacon. They tell me what I'm seeing and how to use it against you," he went on. "We'll try again. Eyes closed! Clear your mind."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands fisted as she sought for control. Was he going to use it against her? Was this why Harry hadn't been able to learn?

"Not like that! You're giving in to your feelings. Let them go. Relax your face, relax your hands, relax your mind." He waited until her breathing steadied and the tension went out of her stance. "Are you ready? Open your eyes. One, two, three -_Legilimens."_

This time she saw a haggard bearded convict in the Shrieking Shack… herself at age four, hiding a very dead mouse in her pocket… Her father twirling her around the room in her mother's arms… a beefeater dropping his pike as it turned into a pitchfork… her grandmother finding the missing crystals from her chandelier in Hermione's dollhouse… Viktor leaning in for a kiss as she put her hands on his chest to push him…

She clapped her hands over her eyes and wrenched herself away. He watched her shoulders heave as she struggled to slow her breathing and her pulse.

"Why the mouse?" he asked.

She blushed.

"Mum said I was too young for a pet. The neighbour's cat left it in our garden."

"Your habit of lavishing attention on useless objects is of long-standing then. Perhaps one day you'll learn from your mistakes. Again. One, two, three -_Legi-_"

"Professor!" She didn't dare finish that sentence.

"I won't tolerate these incessant interruptions. Are you a five-year-old, afraid you'll forget what you wanted to know unless you ask immediately? Store up your questions until the end of the lesson."

"Sorry, sir."

After another half-hour, her head felt as if someone had been rolling bowling balls through it. She rubbed her forehead ruefully. Then Snape sat down so she followed suit.

"Practise clearing your mind whenever you have a few minutes undisturbed. In between classes, for instance, and every night before you sleep," he told her. "You may have fifteen minutes for your questions now."

Fifteen minutes of information on a topic of her choice; she hardly knew where to start. She could ask him about Potions, of course - the flaws and omissions in their textbook that allowed Harry to beat her every lesson were really getting her down – but it would be difficult to raise that topic without letting slip how Harry had been cheating all year. Eyes half-closed, she chewed on her lower lip. What would it be like to be a master Occlumens like Professor Snape?

"If you didn't hide your memories when you went back to Volde – I mean, You-Know-Who," she corrected herself as his glare grew blacker, "at the end of my fourth year, how did you persuade him of your loyalty?"

"I didn't have many that needed hiding," he said. "He's always known that I'm Professor Dumbledore's spy, just as Professor Dumbledore has always known that I'm the Dark Lord's."

Her mouth gaped open and she shrank back a little in her chair.

"But – But – They know? Both of them?" She'd have thought Voldemort would have killed any who betrayed him, with long lingering torture.

"Of course. I know better than to try to hide such a large secret from either of my masters. The Dark Lord sent me here to infiltrate the Order as his spy and I have served him faithfully in that capacity for many years." His eyes mocked her.

"But – Oh! You mean, that's what he thinks you're doing. But you aren't really, are you, sir?"

Eyebrow raised, he stared her out of countenance before answering with a grim smile.

"And therein lies your other lesson for tonight. People hear what they want to hear."

She puzzled over that. Did he mean that she was only hearing what she wanted to hear? But he wouldn't tell her he was faithful to Voldemort if it was true, would he? Or was it a bluff? Yet he'd told her he was trying to teach her to think.

"What are you trying to make me ask?"

He leaned forward, smirking.

"How do you know whose side I'm really on?"

She gulped. She didn't, did she? But these lessons were Professor Dumbledore's idea.

"I've always trusted you because the headmaster does."

He snorted.

"Does a thought never enter your head unless you read it in a book, Miss Granger? The headmaster has trusted many untrustworthy people. The succession of your DADA teachers before myself should have taught you that, Quirrell, Lockhart, Lupin -"

"Professor Lupin's not untrustworthy! Just because you don't like him -"

"Silence!" His hand slammed on the desk. She flinched and rubbed her forehead again. "Have I found a blank spot in your memory? Less than three years ago, I watched him tell you that for an entire year he'd hidden Black's ability to sneak undetected into the school as a dog or through secret passages they'd mapped as students."

"But Sirius was innocent -" Her brows knit and she bit her lip as he glared down his large nose at her. She suddenly understood what he was going to say. He would take inordinate pleasure in saying it, she knew, and there was no way she, a mere student, could stop him.

"Lupin believed him to be guilty as thoroughly as did the rest of us. For all intents and purposes, he placed the interests of one he thought a murderer above those of every student here because he was ashamed to confess to having betrayed the headmaster's confidence, as a student no less than as a teacher. Do you still call him trustworthy? What do you think his price might be?"

She stared very hard at the floor by her feet.

"I trust him," she muttered.

"Indeed? And do you trust me as unquestioningly?"

Her hands clasped and twisted in her lap. She wanted to say yes.

"Why did you tell me all this, sir? It feels as if you're trying to make me distrust you."

He didn't answer immediately. A shy glance showed him tracing the outline of his mouth with one long finger.

"Answering that question will be the rest of your homework from this session, Miss Granger. On Thursday evening, I'll expect you to have formulated an argument on the subject and to be prepared to defend it." He watched her massaging her forehead again. "Do you wish a potion for that headache?"

Her head jerked up, mouth slightly open.

"You never gave Harry a potion," she blurted out.

"Learning to function while in discomfort, or even pain, is a valuable lesson. If he was too spoiled to lower himself to asking, it wasn't my responsibility to anticipate his wishes."

"He isn't spoiled! You know – you must know, if you looked at his memories, that his family never gave him even what he needed, much less what he wanted!"

"Five points from Gryffindor for impertinence, Miss Granger. If you require a week's worth of detentions to remind you of your manners, I shall be delighted to oblige."

"Sorry, sir."

His mouth curved into a predatory smirk as he added, "In any case, surely the fault lies with yourself? A simple headache potion should have been an easy task after Polyjuice. Or was Myrtle too mournful even for you?"

Her heart plugged her throat closed.

"You knew."

"Of course."

"I thought you'd have had me expelled if you found out."

"Indeed? If your two cohorts could escape expulsion after breaking both the national and international codes of wizarding secrecy, why should you expect harsher treatment? Theft of a few ingredients, even illegally brewing restricted substances, hardly compares with stealing an illegally charmed Muggle artefact and displaying it to the entire countryside."

"Yes, sir."

As she closed the door behind her a few minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief. She must have been mad to agree to this, stark, staring, raving, nutters, loony, as Ron – as somebody might say. After this, even Apparition classes would seem easy.

**A/N This chapter owes some of the details, including Hermione's definitions, to the chapters containing Occlumency in OotP.** **The "baby sister's coffin" vision is a nod to JK's comment in an interview that originally she'd planned a sister for Hermione.**


	3. Equally Secret

EQUALLY SECRET

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

When Hermione saw Harry in a huddle with Ron at breakfast the next day, she knew Professor Dumbledore must have told him something important and no doubt she'd be hearing about it at break. Strange to think that while she'd been fighting off Professor Snape's Legilimency Harry had been closeted with the headmaster in an almost equally secret training session, probably examining old memories in the headmaster's Pensieve like last time. Pity she couldn't have borrowed it for the night to keep her most embarrassing experiences private.

Snape hadn't said anything about her ripping a page from a Hogwarts library book. Not to her, at any rate. She was a little nervous of going within reach of Madam Pince though because, even with their bargain not to tell each other's secrets, she wasn't quite sure she could depend on his silence. He was so tricky, he'd probably worked out how to get round that agreement before he'd offered it.

Harry caught her eye then and she nodded. Of course, she'd join him after class and hear his news. Only, whatever he wanted her to help him with this time, she hoped it would be more sensible than following a dream he _knew_ Voldemort had sent him. She wondered idly when the headmaster would organise more Occlumency lessons for Harry. The dreams might have stopped temporarily but Harry was still open to Voldemort's penetration, though perhaps the Dark wizard would be less obvious about it next time around.

After class, Hermione quietly followed Harry out to the deserted snowy courtyard. No one was likely to come out and overhear them in this weather. She shivered and drew her coat closely around her with chilled fingers. Horcruxes? She'd never even heard of them.

Harry's obvious surprise irked her. Why did he expect her to know everything just because she liked reading? She didn't read about Dark magic, of course, and Horcruxes must be really advanced Dark magic for Voldemort to have wanted the information so much. No wonder Slughorn was trying so hard to cover his tracks. Getting anything out of him would be a ticklish task.

"Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon…" he told her. He what?

"Oh, well, if Won-Won thinks that, you'd better do it. After all, when has Won-Won's judgement ever been faulty?" she snapped. Oh, just let him botch it all up, if he was that silly! She'd be there waiting to fix things as usual and share whatever she had managed to find out when he could be bothered to ask.

Potions class that day only made her angrier with the pair of them. She'd expected that Golpalott's Third Law would stymie Harry – calculating antidotes for complex poisons wasn't something you could cheat on – but he'd still managed to come top, for no work at all this time. He'd slunk around his cauldron looking worried and lost, trying to copy Ernie's incantation – Huh! At least she knew non-verbal incantations well enough to stop either Harry or Ron from copying her like usual – and then just produced a bezoar! And Slughorn accepted it!

Not for the first time, she wished Professor Snape was still teaching Potions, even though he was by far the best DADA teacher they'd ever had. He wasn't as nice as Remus Lupin but he focused on dangers they might actually face, dark wizards rather than exotic dark creatures. He wouldn't have fallen for that lazy trick. He'd have given Harry the zero he deserved. Some poisons couldn't be cured by a bezoar, what if it had been one of those?

And what was up with the sixth year Potions textbook that the instructions were always subtly wrong? She'd never brewed a less than perfect Potion till this year. Why hadn't anyone written anything better in all the years Hogwarts classes had been using the same text? Perhaps Professor Snape had supplemented it with corrections when he taught? If only she knew any of the older students well enough to ask, but there were no Gryffindor seventh years studying Potions.

As she approached the library a few hours later, she was still fuming about Harry's cheating. That was probably why she didn't notice she was being trailed by Cormac McLaggen – big oaf that he was, that she could see coming for miles and had been avoiding almost without conscious effort for two days - until he grabbed her wrist from behind and pulled her to the wall. Breathing heavily, he scowled down at her, his wiry hair twitching around a face even larger and redder than usual. She screwed up her nose.

"Where've you been? Why'd you ditch me at Slug's party before Xmas?" he demanded. "Were you just leading me on?"

She wrenched her wrist free, rubbing it hard.

"Ow! Do that again and I'll hex your mouth to where the sun doesn't shine!" As if it wasn't there already, she thought bitterly as she reached for her wand.

He leaned in closer, pushing her against the wall. Ugh, pushy, grabby hands!

"Get off!" she snarled.

"Make me!"

"Ten points each from Gryffindor for canoodling in the halls," came a silky voice from behind McLaggen, who whirled around and paled at the tall black-clad figure looming over him. "And a detention with Filch, Mr McLaggen, for forcing your attentions where they seem to be unwanted. I'll be watching you in the future."

Snape's mouth sneered but his eyebrow was raised at Hermione. She blushed brightly and cursed her luck. Of all the people to come and rescue her – not that she'd needed rescuing, of course - did it have to be him? He'd never let her hear the end of this. Oh, help! She had Occlumency with him again tomorrow. She bit her lip and stared at the ground.

"If you prefer not to be molested, perhaps you should abandon the practice of leading people on," Snape advised as soon as her erstwhile date was out of earshot. "I hadn't thought you could look lower than your empty-headed sidekick whose temper matches his hair but it seems I was mistaken."

There was nothing she could say to that. Not to his face, anyway. Her hands clenched into fists.

"Yes, sir," she ground out.

He smirked and continued on his way. She stared resentfully after him. Why did he have to be so unrelentingly nasty and petty? How could someone so brilliant be so childish?

She worked her way through the regular library shelves without success. Then she moved to the Restricted Section and looked some more but it was no use. Glumly, she fingered her pass, which entitled her to access the Transfigurations and Charms books there, and wondered if she dared risk Madam Pince finding her in the Potions or Defence and Dark Arts sections instead. Somehow the pinched-face librarian seemed to be just over her shoulder every time she turned.

By the next night's training session, she'd come to a reluctant decision. Slughorn would be delighted to write her a pass – he was always ready to do favours for his Slug Club members – but with him there was always a price and who knew when and how he'd want to collect? There was only one other teacher she could ask for a pass for restricted DADA and Potions books, Professor Snape himself. Anyone else would just send her back to the two Slytherins. It was almost a pity Lockhart wasn't around for them to wheedle undeserved concessions out of him. It was the only thing he'd ever been good for.

Snape was predictably difficult about it. When was he ever not?

"Give a pass for borrowing valuable books to a vandal who rips pages out?" he sneered. She flushed and hung her head. "I am not so irresponsible."

"That was in second year," she muttered desperately, shrinking back in her chair. "I'd just realised Slytherin's monster was a basilisk and I needed proof to back me up."

"Do please explain why this necessitated destruction of school property." He leaned forward across his desk. " Perhaps the rest of the staff would also like to hear your no doubt excellent reasons."

She paled.

"No! Please, sir, you promised -"

"You trust my promises, do you?"

"I've always trusted you!" The words almost strangled her. She was guiltily aware of the times she'd chosen to disregard his instructions, the twice that she'd hexed him. Fortunately he attacked from a different angle.

"For no good reason. It seems you were born to be a follower. However, I told you last time to prepare a defence of my trustworthiness. Have you done so?" He waited for her nod. "If you do an adequate job I'll consider signing the pass. Under conditions."

She gulped.

"What conditions?"

"You will guarantee not to damage any book and you will record the title of every book you consult for me to look over. I'll know if you lie."

She bit her lip.

"But you might find out what I'm looking for if the word is in the title."

He scowled, exasperated.

"One of your secrets? Is it secret from the headmaster as well? No?" He pursed his lips. "Those books may be recorded separately and the list submitted to him instead. Satisfied? Then begin."

"I asked why you told me that you'd been spying for - for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, all along." Using the real name in front of Snape would be disastrous and nothing would induce her to call him "the Dark Lord", like a Death Eater. "And you told me to answer the question myself."

"Restating the obvious is not an answer, Miss Granger."

"No, sir." She took a deep breath. "If you were really his spy, you might have told me that as a bluff to make me think that it couldn't be true, because if you were disloyal to the headmaster you wouldn't tell me anything that would raise suspicion. But your whole personality raises suspicion all the time." Her eyes flickered apprehensively to his expressionless face. "So either you're innocent or you aren't afraid of raising suspicion because your secrets are too well-hidden."

"Or perhaps I simply enjoy fooling everyone by flaunting myself in plain view of the enemy."

"You could do, but that doesn't seem like you, sir. At any rate, not to me. That's more something Sirius Black might have done, if he was sneaky enough." The expected explosion didn't come. She gulped another deep breath. "I don't think you're that reckless or over-confident that you'd do that."

"You think you know me then? Yet how if everything you've seen to the contrary was a lie? How could you tell?"

Casting him a sideways glance, she licked her lips and primmed her mouth. Her heart was hammering and her breath short.

"I'm afraid you'll be angry if I say."

"If you don't, you'll have no chance at getting the pass," he pointed out.

"No, well, it's just that I've seen you angry – very angry -" She didn't dare look at him.

"The point, girl!"

"That is the point! When Sirius escaped you were too angry to be acting a part. That was real."

Black eyes flashed and black brows snapped together.

"There was no need to counterfeit. Black was my enemy from the day we met and to lose my revenge by a child's trick, to suspect my employer's complicity, was intolerable."

She bit her lip and tried again.

"You showed your Dark Mark to Fudge at the end of Fourth Year. You wouldn't have done that if you were a loyal Death Eater."

"What could be easier than to shock him into denial after my behaviour the previous year had already cast doubts on my sanity? Perhaps I'm merely more cunning than you know."

"I've never doubted your cunning, but you've saved us too many times to be on his side. You saved Harry in first year -"

He gave a short laugh, adding, "I could hardly have let someone kill him in front of my eyes without falling under suspicion."

"But there were other teachers there! No one was reversing the hex except for you. If they didn't rouse suspicion by not acting, why should you have?"

"Simple. I was the only Death Eater."

"You tried to stop Quirrell!" Her finger was stabbing at him. He shrugged.

"Because I didn't know what he was trying to do. Perhaps I wanted the Stone for myself."

"If you'd wanted it, you'd have got it!"

"Flattery, how very Slytherin!" he smirked.

"It isn't flattery! You had the whole year to work out the protections but there was only one person who tricked Hagrid into telling how to get Fluffy and it wasn't you!"

"Maybe Quirrell just got there first."

"Oh please!" she scoffed. "As if you couldn't have beaten Quirrell!"

Snape leaned back in his chair, surveying her under half-closed lids.

"I had no idea you admired me so much," he said in a deceptively mild voice.

Hermione flushed deep crimson.

"You know I don't – Well, I do but – but not like that – I mean -"

"Yes?" He was enjoying her discomfiture. She saw it in every line of his relaxed length.

The only thing to do was change the subject.

"What was the point of all that, sir? Do you want me to mistrust you?"

He steepled his fingers on the desk.

"Do you trust me more or less now than before?"

She thought about it and realised in surprise what the answer was.

"More."

One corner of his mouth curled.

"It was a method of manipulating your trust by playing Devil's Advocate. In forcing you to argue on my behalf, I tricked you into persuading yourself of my trustworthiness," he explained.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth opening and shutting as she tried to form a response.

"It was a trick?" she echoed.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"Why did you tell me then? Why didn't you just let me go on believing you?"

His smirk grew pitying.

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know what to believe." He'd told her he was going to teach her to think? Was that what he'd been doing?

"Believe what you will."

"What do you believe in, sir?" She was determined to get a straight answer at least once tonight.

His face was still and sombre. His lightless eyes met hers steadily.

"Nothing."

She couldn't look away. His eyes were as deep and dark as tunnels in an abandoned coal mine.

"Nothing? But then why do you fight?"

His lips compressed. For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Because I must. I tangled myself in and neither side will let me just leave. I have to fight on one side or another."

"If you don't believe in our cause, why do you fight with us?" How do I know you do fight with us?

"I don't fight with you; I fight for you."

Swallowing hurt and her eyes were beginning to burn from staring. Still she searched his.

"You're with me now."

"Don't deceive yourself, Miss Granger. We are in the same room and we fight on the same side, but I am not with you and I never will be."

He released her gaze and she slumped with relief. She stared around the room, ringed by glass jars that glinted as they caught the light. It was as shadowy and shifting as its owner.

"But you still didn't answer me," she said. "Why fight for us if you don't believe we're right?"

"Because I found I couldn't fight on a side that kills babies and tortures children."

Her sideways glance expressed her doubt without words.

"Ten points off Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for disrespect to a teacher," he snarled. "I know very well what you're thinking. If you're too childish to see the difference between biting comments and biting out chunks of flesh -"

She had to stop him saying. She didn't want to hear.

"I'm sorry, Professor. Please don't tell me any more. My nightmares are bad enough without _knowing _what they'll do to me if they catch me."

She gulped at the sudden thought that he must know exactly what they'd do – and he had only his wits to keep him uncaught. He could never drop his guard. Even now, he must have an excuse prepared for his master for every word of this conversation. A cold frisson travelled down her back at the thought of living like that. He was unfazed.

"Amazing. A form of knowledge you don't wish to acquire? Knowledge is power, Miss Granger. I thought that was your credo."

**A/N A couple of lines of dialogue are lifted from HBP ch 18, "Birthday Surprises".**


	4. Very Much Unwanted

VERY MUCH UNWANTED

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione pushed her wild hair off her damp face with one sweaty hand and glared down at the dark greasy head bent over a small pile of parchment. Professor Snape was methodically examining her list of the restricted texts she'd skimmed, occasionally interrupting her to ask about any of particular interest. He didn't look up at the sudden pause.

"Go on, Miss Granger. Unless you're exhausted already?"

She gave an angry huff. She should never have reminded him that he'd promised private DADA tuition. He'd looked her over from head to toe and back, then graciously agreed. Graciously, ha! That should have been her cue to back out. In five and a half years he'd been teaching her, she'd never seen Professor Snape gracious about anything. She should have known better than to think he might actually be beginning to – not like her, of course, he didn't like anyone but Malfoy, though what he saw in that stuck-up manky ferret-face was anyone's guess -

"Language, Miss Granger." He turned another page with his left hand, his wand still loose in his right.

- Of course he wouldn't approve of her, Hermione Granger, Muggle-born Gryffindor, insufferable know-it-all and very much unwanted new colleague –

"Are you jealous of Draco?" he continued. "I'd never have guessed."

"No, of course not, I -" Her mouth dropped open and she shut it with a snap. "You were listening to my thoughts!"

"Sir or professor," he reminded her. "Of course I was. How else did you think I'd been parrying all your hexes without looking at you?" She'd become quite competent at wordless spell-casting after half a year's practice in three subjects.

"You sneered at me our first session for thinking you could do that. You said that Legilimency usually requires eye-contact, which I knew already, actually, but -"

"Usually. But when your thoughts are screaming so loudly -" He finished the last few titles and looked up at last, malicious amusement in every line of his countenance. Her already hot face grew hotter. She scowled at the floor.

"You promised not to pry into my secrets. Sir."

"And I always keep my promises, of course. So, if I promised allegiance to the Dark Lord, then later to the headmaster, I must surely be faithful to both, mustn't I?"

Her hand clenched around her wand. He was toying with her again.

"That's different. You realised it was wrong to be a Death Eater so, of course, you had to stop."

"Did I?" His eyes stabbed hers as she glanced at him. She hastily looked away.

"You must have, sir, or you wouldn't have turned to Professor Dumbledore."

"A bold assertion. Perhaps I was hoaxing him and never turned at all."

"I told you already that I don't believe that. I don't think any of my friends," or me, "would be alive now if you were faithful to – to You-Know-Who." It was almost as hard now to stop herself saying Voldemort as it had been to learn to say it but she knew he'd never stand for it.

"If I saw a rabbit riding a tiger, I wouldn't think the tiger's disposition had changed. I'd assume it wasn't hungry yet." He pushed his chair back and stood up, sharp eyes marking without comment her slight shrinking away. "Let us examine your other point. You suggested that a promise is only valid until your reasoning rejects it. If you realise you were mistaken to make a promise, you are immediately released from all obligation? I didn't know you were such a Slytherin thinker."

He advanced as he spoke and she backed slowly away.

"I didn't mean that! I -"

"So since I now realise that my responsibility as your teacher demands that I attempt to stop any further misdemeanours by a confirmed trouble-maker like you -"

"I'm not!"

"Sir!" he admonished, studying her with patronising disbelief. "Aren't you?"

She took another step back and felt shelves pressing into her back. He had her cornered.

"Well, I – I have broken the rules sometimes, but there was always a really good reason."

He glared down at her, but made no attempt to close the distance of a double arm's-length between them.

"A really good reason? That excuses everything, does it? People always think they have a really good reason to perform acts that other might find questionable. If I heard your reasons, would I find them 'really good'?"

She gulped and looked away. A moment later, she was disarmed and dancing. He watched the effects of his _Tarantallegra_ with a smirk that didn't reach his cold eyes, deftly moving out of her way as she swayed nearer. He didn't stop the spell till she reached her chair.

"You'll have to do better than that," he remarked as he returned her wand. "Never let an opponent distract you from a fight or you've lost before you've even begun."

When she had her breath back, she asked, "If you can duel so brilliantly," there really was no other word, "why were we able to disarm you in the Shrieking Shack and why didn't you stop Harry hexing you in DADA, the first lesson?"

"Even the greatest master – though I stake no claim to that title – even the greatest master may be taken by surprise. I hardly expected the children I'd come to rescue to turn on me, all three at once."

"And Harry?"

A thin nasty smile curled his lips, but instead of answering he motioned her to duel again.

She was still thinking about it that weekend as she sprawled on her bed devouring her daily page of _Murchison's Mind-Mastery _and a bag of Muggle candied ginger with equal relish. She'd only ever seen him duel once and that had been in second year against that fraud, Lockhart, hardly a challenge. She was still secretly embarrassed to remember that she'd had a crush on the blond then. He'd been like Lucius Malfoy without the shark.

Of course, Professor Snape had crushed him, hexed him halfway across the room with barely a flick of his wand. It had been unforgettable. So unforgettable, in fact, that even Harry and Ron had learnt the spell from that one demonstration and joined her in practising it at the end of the school year. And then they'd used it against him the following year. It sounded horrid put like that, but what else could they have done? He'd refused to listen to anything.

The sound of throats being cleared made Hermione look up. Lavender and Parvati, who'd been whispering together on the latter's bed, nodded as one and turned towards her.

"He was never your boyfriend," Parvati opened the conversation. Hermione choked on a piece of ginger and coughed till her eyes were swimming.

"What?" she said faintly. They were talking to her again? She could tell already that it had been better when they weren't.

"You've got no right to be mad at Lav. Or at him. He wasn't your boyfriend in the first place, so what right have you got to be jealous?"

"I'm not jealous." Boiling with rage, fuming with fury, but not jealous as such. If she couldn't see Won-Won and his Lav in a tonsil-clinch without wanting to twist their heads off and punt them out the window so they could continue their kissing at the bottom of the lake where she wouldn't have to see, that wasn't jealousy. Just a reasoned and perfectly understandable distaste for melodramatic displays of false affection.

"Sure you're not," Lavender sneered. "That's why you sent charmed birds dive-bombing to scratch him. Just out of the not-so-goodness of your little heart."

"Don't call my heart little!"

"What else can we call it? You had your chance and you wasted it. If you'd ever wanted him why didn't you ever say anything? He was your best friend, he'd have done anything you wanted. So why are you being such a dog-in-the-manger about it?" Parvati twisted one long dark braid between her fingers as she spoke.

Hermione jumped up.

"Shut up! Just shut up about him or I'll hex you." She closed her book with a snap and slipped it into her pocket. "You want him, you can have him. You two deserve each other, just don't talk to me about it because I couldn't ruddy care less."

She didn't wait for any more. Chest heaving and breath hitching, she pushed past them to the common room. Fortunately Ginny was there, mercifully alone for once. The redhead glanced up and gave a welcoming smile.

"Hey," she said. "What's wrong? You look like you're being chased by a gang of harpies."

"Worse," complained Hermione, slumping into a chair next to her and rummaging in her pocket for the ginger bits she'd – drat! – left on her bed. "The terrible twosome of tragedy and terminal boredom."

"What are they on about this time? Trelawney's teacups? Doom and Divination?"

"Your brother."

"Oh." Ginny's eyes brimmed with sympathy. Hermione sighed and leant her head on her hand.

"I don't even know why he suddenly started fighting with me over nothing. I thought – well, you know what I thought. But then he went off to play tangle-tongues with that – that boy-magnet! And I don't even know why."

Ginny's hands met and twisted in her lap. Her bright hair fell over her face as she stared at them.

"Hmm. I might," she admitted. "Might know why, that is. I think it was my fault."

Hermione looked at her sideways, mouth slightly pursed.

"Your fault? You told him to kiss Lavender?" she asked doubtfully.

"Not in so many words. But he was rousing on me for kissing Dean and I gave him what for. Told him he had no right to talk when he'd never even kissed anyone in his life, the prat! And it was only a few days later that he took up with Lavender." Ginny unclenched her fists and bravely met her friend's gaze. "Are you very mad with me?"

Hermione grimaced. _Maybe._

"Was that all you said?" she probed.

"I think so. I don't know what else might have set him off. No, hang on. I told him even you and Harry had more experience than him. Cos Harry kissed Cho and you kissed Krum. You don't think?"

The older girl snorted, her lips thin and her eyes hot.

"I do. Nothing likelier. He was always horrid about Viktor, always sniping and starting quarrels with me about him. I used to think maybe he was jealous but I know better now, of course. He's never thought of me that way."

"Of course he was ruddy jealous. Oh Hermione, I'm sorry. I wrecked things for you," Ginny said.

"Not your fault. You probably didn't say anything he didn't deserve. So what if I did kiss Viktor? That was two years ago and if your idiot brother had even noticed that I was a girl I'd never have given Viktor a second look. And it's really none of his business what I did with – Oh. Harry. I didn't see you come in. Is everything all right? You look a bit blank." He must want something. What was it this time?

Harry loomed over the two girls, shifting from foot to foot.

"No, I'm fine. Umm, I was just wondering though, did either of you get invited to one of Slughorn's parties yet this term?"

Hermione looked at him then. He didn't quite meet her eyes. Typical! She'd told him that buttonholing Slughorn after a lesson was a silly idea. If it were that easy to get the Slytherin to spill the secret, then why would Professor Dumbledore need Harry's help to get it? Naturally, he hadn't listened to her, not when good old Won-Won knew better.

"He hasn't mentioned anything," she said coldly.

"Nor to me," Ginny added "Why? You've been sliding out of them all year. Why d'you suddenly care?"

"No particular reason," Harry denied unconvincingly. "Just wondering."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. Did he really think Slughorn would seek his company after he'd made his prying so blunderingly obvious? And even if he did invite him, did Harry really think Slughorn might be willing to spill undoubtedly dangerous secrets at a party?

"I'm off to the library," she muttered. If she could find out what Horcruxes were, it might suggest a way of approach, at least. "You two talk about Quidditch or something."

Not very subtle, but she couldn't be around them when they were alternatively hiding their faces and shooting each other speculative looks. She wondered how much longer Ginny would persevere at pretending to herself that Dean had any chance of keeping her interest. It was still Harry. It had always been Harry.

By the time Apparition lessons began, a week and a half later, she'd reluctantly admitted defeat on the former subject. Only one book in the entire library mentioned Horcruxes at all and then only to explain that it wouldn't explain. Pity she couldn't ask Snape, but she didn't dare even think the word in his presence in case he "heard" it. It was too secret. She showed Harry the useless tome with decided ill grace.

The weather was as bleak as her mood. The snow had melted to sludge and the crystalline midwinter skies darkened to gloomy grey-purple February rain clouds. Snape was as snarky as ever and positively triumphant at her slow progress in resisting his control during Occlumency training. She might have had more success at clearing her mind if he hadn't perforce filled it with wistful images of making him swallow his words with hot chili sauce on a mouldy bun.

The sixth years went down to the Great Hall that first Saturday morning of Apparition lessons, in loving-couples and pairs and little knots of friends. She went with Harry, of course. His Potions cheating was still a sore point, but the bitterest anger over his bezoar triumph had worn off and she was fed up with being alone. Besides, she didn't have enough friends left to risk losing him as well.

Unfortunately, she wasn't able to enjoy his company for long. As soon as the Ministry teacher, Wilkie Twycross, had finished explaining the theory and told them to make enough space to practise, Harry had darted off, past the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs to stand right behind Malfoy.

Oh, honestly! Couldn't he stop obsessing over ferret-face even for a second? Apparition lessons were one of the most important things they'd do this year. Getting the license was one of the rites of passage that differentiated child from adult member of the wizard world. And he was skiving off to eavesdrop on Malfoy? Lucky for him Professor Snape was too busy directing Goyle to stand a little further away from Millicent Bulstrode to notice him.

She was wondering if she could be bothered to go after him and expostulate when the four heads of houses yelled, "Quiet!" and everybody stilled expectantly.

There was nothing she could do about it now. Resolutely she turned away from Harry to stare into the wooden hoop the instructor had just conjured in front of her, twin to the hoops that had simultaneously appeared in front of every other sixth year. She cast a swift glance around the other Gryffindors, every one of them but Harry with their mind on the task, and took a deep breath.

"Destination, determination, deliberation," the man intoned. It was finally time to learn how.


	5. Hold the Spoon

HOLD THE SPOON

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP**.

Hermione trudged with heavy steps to the dungeons, lips pursed and teeth set. Three and a half days ago, Harry had rushed off from the first Apparition lesson, Ron in tow, and she'd since discovered that it had to do with his ridiculous obsession to prove that Malfoy was a junior Death Eater. Apparently he'd had a new "brainwave" to track Malfoy's movements on the Marauder's Map. He kept ducking into alcoves and bathrooms or behind statues to pull it out and search repeatedly throughout the day.

His furtive disappearances had been too obvious to miss, so yesterday she'd buttonholed him on the way to lunch and dragged an explanation out of him. At first, she'd been inclined to shrug. Let him have his fun, only this time maybe he'd have the sense to take reinforcements before trying another eavesdropping expedition. She hoped the broken nose from the train last September had at least taught him that much.

It was only as she'd put her Ancient Runes book on her bedside table and burrowed under the covers to drown out her roommates' whispers and giggles last night that she'd suddenly gasped and sat up with a jerk. If he kept checking the map throughout the evenings as well as between classes, she could be in trouble. Big trouble. Darn! And it was all so unnecessary.

She'd been worrying it over all day. She couldn't not tell Professor Snape, but if she did tell he'd probably learn more about Harry's current activities and plans than she was willing for him to know. She rubbed her fingertips across her ridged forehead hard enough to hurt and huffed her displeasure. Ruddy great prat! Why did he have to make everything so hard?

Then she stopped in her tracks, slack-jawed and staring. Was that Harry or Snape she was thinking about?

"Professor, I'm afraid we may have a problem," she began, as soon as she'd closed the door behind her.

Snape was sitting at his desk, marking third year essays. He was always marking third years on Tuesdays, followed by fourth years, then sixth years. On Thursdays, he was usually marking first years and seventh years. She'd never previously thought about how much work he somehow got through in a week though a moment's calculation of the number of essays she'd handed in to him since first year would have yielded an amazing sum.

"Spit it out, girl!" he said, without looking up.

"You remember Harry's Marauder's Map that shows where everyone is? The one you saw on Professor Lupin's desk that night you came to rescue us in the Shrieking Shack?" She crossed all the fingers of both hands that he wouldn't blow up at the reminder.

"Vividly," he snapped. "Barty Crouch found it very useful the following year."

"Yes, sir." She'd forgotten he had to have known that; he'd been the one to dose the disguised Death Eater with Veritaserum after his Polyjuice had worn off. Harry had told her and Ron everything in the train going home. "Ever since the Apparition lesson on Saturday, he's begun checking it several times a day."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you. One of those secrets you promised not to look at too closely." She was careful to keep her eyes averted.

"I promised to avoid your secrets, not his."

"Harry's secrets are my secrets!"

He smirked down at the 'T" he was scrawling on a red-slashed essay.

"As you wish."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"You saw, didn't you?" she breathed.

"Not enough to concern you. Only that it has something to do with Draco." He snorted. "When doesn't it? I suppose he's as convinced that Draco poisoned Miss Bell as he was four years ago that Draco was the Heir of Slytherin. "

"It isn't funny, sir. I'm not sure I should keep up with these sessions if you're catching my stray thoughts. I won't let myself be used to betray Harry." Even without that, Harry would be very angry if he discovered what she was doing, despite that it was Order work. He'd see any unforced contact with Snape as a betrayal.

Her teacher rested his quill and unbent his neck to watch her.

"The headmaster requested these sessions. Do you suspect him of using you to betray your friend?"

"N-no, not intentionally." Of course Professor Dumbledore was trustworthy, but even the wisest person can make a mistake.

"Then it's myself you don't trust?" he asked calmly.

That wasn't what she meant either. What did she mean? She couldn't quite voice it, only that his quick understanding was making her uneasy.

"I do trust you about most things. Only when it's about Harry -"

"It's always about Mr Potter. The Chosen Boy, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one in the prophecy." He shrugged. "It's been 'about him', as you say, since before he was born. So I ask again. Do you trust me?" Returning to his marking, he added snidely, "You've told me several times that you do. Will you now prove yourself a liar?"

She took too long to formulate an answer.

"You're right not to trust me, of course," he added. The third year essays were finished. He straightened the stack and placed it in his desk before pulling the next stack towards him."You know I broke faith with my master. Can an oath-breaker ever be trusted again?"

"It depends why he broke it. If he was told to do wrong he had to disobey and if most of what he was told to do was wrong he had to leave." She glanced at his bent dark head and away. Somehow it was easier to answer in the third person, as if they were talking about some unknown stranger instead of the man in front of her.

"You don't know why he broke it. You can only guess. How can you trust a liar to tell you the truth?"

"You're not a liar!" she burst out passionately. "Why are you trying to make me think that you are?"

Black malicious eyes glinted at her from between two wings of black greasy hair.

"I'm gaining your trust by playing on your sympathy, of course. Why else?"

She bit her lip. He just seemed able to dance her into total confusion far too often. And the worst of it was that it was working. The more he confessed his trickery, the less tricky he seemed.

"I do believe you're on our side in the war, sir, even if you've always been against us in school matters. And I haven't forgotten that you promised not to use these sessions to get my friends in trouble."

She jumped in her seat at his next words.

"I promised you nothing of the kind. You need to listen more carefully. You asked me that, but I distracted you with other points. I agreed only that we wouldn't seek to pry into each other's secrets or discuss them with others." He pushed his marking aside and put down his quill to regard her over steepled fingers. "Perhaps you were relying on the headmaster to protect you from my Slytherin cunning?"

"But -"

"As it happens, you were correct to rely on him and therefore I'm willing to renegotiate. In return for your continued attendance, I undertake not to use any information I might glean from you in the course of these sessions to the disadvantage of your friends or family or yourself. Neither in nor out of Hogwarts, neither privately nor publicly, neither now nor in the future. It's a very generous offer. Do you accept?"

She glanced at him sideways through narrowed eyes.

"Why do I feel that there's another hidden catch?" she muttered.

"Perhaps you're learning to be a little more careful. What do you think it might be?"

After a pause for thought, she produced, "It's still not specific enough. You haven't defined who's included in friends or family, how closely acquainted or related they have to be for you to keep silent about them."

"Anything else?"

Under that cold stare it was hard to think at all.

"Oh! You didn't specify how many sessions I have to attend or whether missing a session invalidates your promise."

"Anything else?" he pressed.

She stared around the room for inspiration and found none.

"I don't think so. But what if I'm wrong?"

"Then you are fortunate that the headmaster was before you. He negotiated an agreement on your behalf before we called you in."

"So you've been playing with me again!" she huffed, conscious nevertheless of a feeling of relief.

"No, Miss Granger, I've been teaching you again. As for Potter, I see no problem. He isn't trying to catch you out so if he does see us he'll merely ask you for an explanation. I'm sure he'll have no difficulty believing that I've given you a term's worth of detention and you're surely capable of explaining why you didn't mention it till now. We've wasted enough time on this. We'll start with Occlumency again."

He stood up and walked around the desk to confront her. She stood up slowly.

"Wait! Sir, was there anything else?"

He gave her a pitying look.

"Of course, there was." He looked her up and down, smirking. It was one of his favourite intimidation techniques that familiarity had still not accustomed her to withstand. "You still don't see it? And you supposedly the cleverest witch of your age!" He gave an ostentatious sigh as she quietly seethed. "I promised not to use the information I discovered and I had already promised not to discuss your secrets with others. But neither of those precludes my passing them on without discussion for someone else to use."

She gasped. That sneak! But had he been too clever for himself?

"But we promised the same to each other. Does that mean I'm not prevented from passing on your secrets to other people?"

Apparently not. He was giving her the same look he always used to give Harry's cauldron.

"Do I look a fool to you? I required your utmost discretion at all times. That's sufficiently all-encompassing that it leaves you no loopholes to betray me."

The lesson didn't get any better. She still couldn't block his Legilimency. After he'd watched her in rapid succession throw up over her first grade teacher, prance around a stage in a home-made mouse costume, hide boomslang skin under her robes, sob into a pillow in a Gryffindor-curtained bed, tie the strings on a skimpy bikini and humiliate herself in a dozen other ways, he took off the spell to berate her incompetence.

At first she listened in scowling silence, but when he began to compare her unfavourably to Neville her patience wore out.

"I know I'm not making any progress, sir!" she snarled. "But did you ever stop to think that maybe the problem is not with me?" As the words left her mouth, her face froze with horror. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she fought not to turn tail and run.

"Would you like to repeat that in plain English?"

His voice was dangerously soft as he loomed over her, long pale fingers clenched around his wand. She gulped. Grovel-time, but she had too much self-respect so she settled for a less abject apology.

"I'm sorry, sir, but - but do you have to teach by attacking all the time? Maybe I'd do better if you switched to a more cooperative style."

The silence was terrible. She couldn't look at his face, but at least his feet weren't coming any closer and his wand hand was still by his side, not lifted to hex. Then his robes swirled as he moved away.

"Sit, Miss Granger."

She sat, pocketing her wand and twisting her hands in her lap. He was already sitting behind his desk and picking up the quill to grade the rest of the fourth year parchments. She waited as he dipped it in red ink and resumed correcting. She guiltily hoped he'd take out his fury on the hapless fourth years and not on her.

"A more cooperative style," he sneered after starting on the second parchment, "would be unsuitable. Legilimency is, by definition, an attack on the mind. Repelling it can only be taught through practice and the more forceful my attack, the more it prompts you to defend. The first step – for you, the hardest – is to recognise that the voice in your mind is not your voice and to mobilise your faculties to oppose it. It's the same with _Imperio_. Only when your mind realises it's under attack can it actively defend."

Her fingers tightened on the thumb of her other hand and her free thumb moved in rhythmic comforting strokes from knuckle to wrist. Her voice was subdued.

"That makes sense, I suppose, sir. But does it have to be taught in that order? If that will be the hardest skill for me to learn, mightn't it be better to turn the usual sequence upside down and teach me passive defence first?" And then my thoughts wouldn't get loud enough for you to overhear.

"How do you propose to do that?"

She couldn't believe how calm he sounded. She'd have been less unnerved if he'd yelled. At least, she wouldn't have been waiting for the sting in the tail.

"I don't know, sir. You're the teacher." Her thumb was starting to throb. The circulation was cut off.

He shot her a glance under scowling brows and she looked down. Silly to hurt herself with such a tight hold, she noticed and promptly changed hands.

"Indeed. Yet if you dare to challenge the teacher you'd better have an excellent argument prepared."

She hurried to disclaim.

"I wasn't challenging you, sir. Well, not intentionally, anyway. It was just a sudden idea."

"Which you need to develop a lot further before you bring it up again," he said coldly.

"That's exactly what I meant, sir. If you had a more cooperative style we could develop it together."

About to dip his quill again, he paused and gave her a long steady look that she couldn't quite return.

"But you would learn a lot less. I'm not here to spoon-feed you."

"I always thought that's what you were doing in Potions, sir," she ventured. The most annoying thing about relying on someone else to hold the spoon was that their pace was always a bit off, too fast or too slow, and the spoon never held the right amount of food even if it came from the right bowl. "You didn't let me ask questions, till eventually I just stopped asking."

He scrawled an 'A' with three decisive strokes and picked up another parchment.

"Asking questions is not thinking for yourself," he pointed out. "It's the lazy way of avoiding thinking. If you really wanted to think for yourself, you'd research and experiment on your own first. Risky - but then, can anything be riskier than thinking for oneself?"

Her head came up. She glowered at him.He didn't look up from his marking.

"I did. You never gave me a chance to explain."

"My obligation was to teach the class, not to give you private tuition. Allowing you to go off on a tangent of your own interest would only have distracted the other students from attending to the set material. The best proof of the potential for wasting time is this conversation. We were discussing Occlumency, if you recall."

A straight stroke and a curved one; she couldn't see if it was 'P' or 'D' but he underlined it three times.

"Yes, sir." She took a deep breath. "You let me get off the topic. Why?"

"I'd have thought a witch of your alleged capabilities would not have needed that explained to her. Because Occlumency is not the only lesson I'm teaching, of course."

"Yes, sir."He was trying to antagonise her into giving up but she wouldn't let him.

" Now, to return to your question about passive Occlumency. Normally one maintains a slight shield that automatically strengthens in case of attack. However, since you still can't recognise an attack you'd need to maintain a stronger shield and it's too draining to do that for long periods. There are two other ways to shield yourself but you are capable of neither."

Her fists clenched and she bit hard on the inside of her cheek. If she made him angry he might not tell her.

"What are they?" she asked, when she could trust her voice.

He smirked at her.

"I'd have thought they were obvious. Not to think. Or not to care."


	6. Losing control

LOSING CONTROL

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Success, when it came, was almost as disconcerting as it was sudden. February was half over. The skies were still grey and tearful. Her roommates were still aggressively silent and Ron was still Won-Won.

That Thursday night, Snape had been rummaging through Hermione's memories of anger and resentment. Malfoy was stumbling back from her slap in third year… Ron was shielding his face from attacking canaries… Kathy from next-door was screaming as her hair started dripping earthworms… Neville was frantically following instructions she was hissing out the corner of her mouth…

That was another third year memory, the Potions class where Snape had threatened to poison Trevor with Neville's Shrinking Potion. She'd helped her terrified friend but she'd been fuming at the nasty petty meanness -

_No. You're not watching that._

She heard the words as if they came from outside, but they were hers. And he sneered back.

_Stop me._

A table, a cauldron, Neville's anxious face, a tall black figure swishing closer… She pushed with her mind and suddenly she was free, staring wide-eyed across the room. No cauldrons, no Neville, no angry or jeering audience of fellow-students - just him and her, alone in a shadowy room with clashing eyes and upraised wands. She gaped and gulped and grinned incredulously.

"I did it? I did it!"

"Curb your excitement and don't waste my time on this causeless jubilation. One success in six weeks is not a very impressive accomplishment. You've a long way to go yet."

"A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, Professor. If you were a little less dismissive of our first steps, perhaps more of us would finish the trip." She'd discovered that he was holding her on a looser rein during these sessions. He tolerated her asking questions or arguing as long as her tone stayed respectful.

He raised a sardonic eyebrow, lips curled in a thin sneer.

"Surely you're a little old to expect praise for not falling over when you walk. I had no idea you felt anything more than pity for Longbottom."

She eyed him warily.

"What do you mean, 'more than pity'? He's my friend, of course. I like him but – but not the way you're implying."

He glared down his nose at her.

"Indeed? Then why was it this memory of all others that finally sparked your defences? Who were you shielding, if not him?"

"I don't know. Myself, I suppose."

But she had to swallow a sick feeling that she did know. Not her, not Neville, it was Snape himself she'd been so determined to hide from his view. It sounded ridiculous. It was ridiculous; he'd been there, of course, he'd seen it all. Yet the very thought of him watching himself through her eyes was unbearable. It was – it was intolerably intimate. She clenched her teeth on the inside of her cheek and her hand on her wand and stared resolutely at the floor.

"You didn't shield yourself every other time," he pointed out.

"I heard you. You spoke to me in my mind," she said, hoping to distract him with a change of subject. If he ever knew! He mustn't find out, that was all.

"Of course. Your mind was open and your mouth, for once, was shut."

"You're wasting your jeers, sir. I'm not as easily cowed as Neville. If I was I wouldn't still be coming here." That didn't mean she hadn't thought about stopping.

"Don't be so smug. Mr Longbottom has never missed a class, no matter how useless he was once he got there."

"He wasn't useless. It's just you. How could you do that to him, Professor? That toad is all he has." She didn't have to feign the passion in her voice. This had been a sore point for so long.

"On the contrary, Mr Longbottom has a rather sizeable extended family, though most are fifty or more years his senior. It was only a toad. I use bushels of them every year in Potions."

"It was his pet! He loves it!" _Why do you have to be so cruel?_

"Then he should learn to take better care of it. Do you think that people who _Crucio_ children would baulk at poisoning a toad? Better he learn the consequences of carelessness when only a toad is at stake."

Her lips were tightly compressed against the scalding words that begged to be said but she saw conviction and resolve in his dark eyes. He honestly believed in his teaching techniques; his sarcasm and bullying and verbal abuse were intended to guide as much as to goad.

She grimaced. If his classroom was a bleak and unforgiving place, if he rubbed their noses in their mistakes like puppies that had wet the carpet, well, he lived in a bleak unforgiving world where the slightest mistake had worse consequences than a sore smelly nose. And Potions was an unforgiving subject, all knives and flames and explosions, ingredients that might be caustic or corrosive or poisonous mingling to form mixtures that were scarcely less so.

Her mouth and hands relaxed. If he had interpreted the old proverb, "A trouble shared is a trouble halved,"as an invitation to spread the misery, could she blame him for choosing to try any method that offered to halve his troubles? Unfortunately, his next comment reminded her that even his better intentions were all too often mingled with malice.

"At least you've lifted your sights a little, a very little, since then," he jeered. "Not that there's much to choose between the gormless and the brainless. Did you switch your affections out of despair at your ill-success or in hopes of bettering your prospects?"

The metaphorical slap in the face, just when she'd been feeling sympathy towards him, left her gasping.

"That was a foul thing to say, even for you, Professor," she said when she regained her power of speech. "In class I can't stop you from saying whatever you choose, but I don't have to be here and I won't put up with that sort of insult any longer, sir."

"How do you propose to stop me?"

She glanced behind her at the door. She was closer.

"I could walk out. I'm sure the headmaster would agree that I was in the right."

"And prove yourself inferior in courage to Mr Longbottom?"

She gave a short laugh.

"I wish I could tell him you said that, sir. Only he'd never believe me. Anyway, sometimes it takes more courage to walk out than to stay."

He took a few steps to the side. She shifted to face him.

"Does it?" he asked.

"You should know, sir. Isn't that what you did to the Death Eaters, metaphorically speaking, that is?"

"How you Gryffindors prize courage over common sense," he scoffed.

"I'll never apologise for being a Gryffindor, Professor." He moved again and she turned along with him. "If you don't have the courage to stand by what you believe in, you don't have anything at all."

"Does one still need courage if one believes in nothing?" He loomed over her. She took a few involuntary steps back.

"Everybody believes in something, sir, even you. You told me you couldn't be on a side that kills babies and tortures children."

"That's a preference, not a belief."

"Because the milk of human kindness just runs in your veins!" she flung at him sarcastically.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for impertinence, Miss Granger. You will speak to me with respect." The fury in his face pushed her back another few steps.

"Yes, sir, sorry." She bit her lip, then burst out passionately, "But you're a fine one to jeer about prizing courage over common sense! What sort of common sense does it take to spy on Vol-"

"Silence!" He was taller than ever, his eyes flashing and his lips so thin as to be almost invisible.

"On _him_! What does that take, if not courage?"

Incredibly, he was smirking, fury apparently forgotten.

"Perhaps a great deal of uncommon sense, Miss Granger. To know which side is winning and to join it in time."

"But all the histories say that he was winning, right up until the moment he faced Harry," she protested.

"The histories were not aware of the prophecy. I was. Naturally, I knew which side to choose."

She shook her head.

"I've heard the prophecy, Professor. It doesn't say Harry will win. Only that he can!"

"Which is where the uncommon sense comes into it," he pointed out calmly, strolling forward again.

She stepped back and bumped into his desk. Her eyes flew to his face and then to the door behind him. Now he was closer to the exit; she couldn't leave without passing him. He saw her looking and his eyes lit with mockery.

"Don't let yourself be so easily distracted by argument, Miss Granger. You've given up your advantage again."

She gritted her teeth. He always had to rub it in, didn't he?

"I wish you'd stop trying to convince me of your villainy. You never will."

He shrugged.

"You have no reason to trust me," he said.

"You've always protected us."

He pointed his wand at her chest. Her hand tightened around her wand.

"What if one day I didn't?" he pressed. "What if you saw me kill?"

"I don't know. It would depend."

"On what?"

"I don't know," she admitted again, clearing her throat. "The day you took me to the headmaster's office, he told me that being a spy sometimes forces you into situations where there are no 'good' choices, only lesser degrees of bad. And he said he trusted you always to make the right one based on what you knew."

"So you trust me because he does? Are you such a dunderhead? The headmaster trusts me and the Dark Lord trusts me. One of them is wrong. Or maybe both of them."

"Both?"

"I could be playing both sides false to ensure I end up on the winning one. Are you really as sure of me as you pretend? Let's see, shall we? One, two, three, _Legilimens_."

The room spun away again and she was facing him in the Shrieking Shack, levelling her wand to hex him as he held Sirius at wandpoint and Remus Lupin lay bound and struggling by his feet. From the floor and the door, Ron and Harry lifted their wands too.

_No!_

This time she could feel her own strength. She squeezed her thoughts into a sharp shining object and poked it at him. He dodged and reached for her mind again. She parried his thrust and lunged past him and found herself sitting on a broom, separating warring Quidditch players, as one suddenly whizzed past from behind so close she almost fell off.

Then she was back in his office, panting for breath and staring at him. His hair hung over his thin face. For the first time in their sessions, she saw him discomposed.

"What was that?" she asked. "Was that one of your memories?" She'd seen it before. It was the second Quidditch match in her first year, the one where he'd refereed. "How did I do that?"

He lifted his chin and glared down his nose at her

"The optimal moment for a counter-attack occurs precisely as one successfully repels an enemy push into one's own territory. Perhaps you're not quite as hopeless as you've seemed."

The more he glowered at her, the more she smiled. She couldn't seem to stop. Forget the putdowns! Nothing would persuade her to leave now, not after triumphing twice and earning that rarest of all rewards, a compliment from his snarling mouth. She laughed aloud.

"I did it! I really did it!"

"Spare me the celebrations. This is just the beginning of your studies."

Joy made her garrulous. Finally something in her life was coming right. Ron might be obsessed with snogging Lavender; Harry might be obsessed with chasing Malfoy; Apparition might still be unattainable; but she'd pushed Snape out of her head twice in a row and proven her ability beyond even his denying.

"All this time, I thought I wasn't getting anywhere, that I'd just be just bashing my head against a brick wall forever, but something was changing deep down where I couldn't feel it. And you didn't give up on me, you just kept pushing till I found it." She blinked back happy moisture. "Do you think it's always like that, sir? Are problems unknotting themselves where we can't see, just quietly sorting themselves out if we don't give up on them?"

He turned away from her to straighten a jar on a shelf near the door.

"No. Some problems are insoluble, but that doesn't mean one should just give up. Even a small improvement in the situation might lead someone else to find a way round when there's no way through."

His admission made her bold.

"Do you ever dream about what you'll do when the war is over, Professor? What do you think about to give you hope and strength?" Maybe he could give her some.

He didn't answer immediately. He straightened another few jars in silence. She couldn't see his face but his back was as straight as ever.

"Professor?"

"I don't expect to be alive when the war is over."

She stared at him, the smile dropping off her face. The room was too cold. She pocketed her wand and hugged her arms around herself.

"Why not?"

He swung around and walked past her to his desk. She sat down after him and watched as he picked up his quill and attacked the marking pile once more.

"Nobody trusts a spy, Miss Granger. Surely you've noticed. They are as much hated by one side as by the other."

Was that why he kept harping on about whether she trusted him? She supposed doubtfully that even he might wish for the warmth of friendship sometimes.

"If you did - I mean, if you are – What - What would you do if you turned out to be wrong about that?"

He pulled another parchment towards him and shrugged.

"For twenty years I've had secrets too important to risk losing control of myself. I suppose I'd drink myself into a stupor and if I woke up I'd do it again."

"_If_? Don't you want to survive the war?" The air was too thick. She couldn't breathe.

"Why do you ask?" He shot her a disparaging glance. "Cherishing fantasies in my direction, since you couldn't manage to catch Weasley's eye? I'm afraid my fancy doesn't run to bushy hair and big teeth."

She couldn't even be angry. She couldn't even feel hurt.

"I'm sorry. I – I deserved that, I suppose, for prying. It's none of my business, really -"

"No, it isn't."

Judging by the scratching of his quill, he was writing a more than ordinarily scathing comment. She chewed on her lip. That must be a D he was scrawling at the top. He took another parchment without looking at her.

"How do you do it?" she said when she could bear the silence no longer.

"Do what?" he snapped.

"Get up each morning when there's nothing to get up for?"

He scratched out several lines and scribbled a comment on the side.

"One doesn't need something to get up for. One either wakes up or one doesn't. And once awake, sooner or later one gets up so it may as well be sooner. Until one day one doesn't wake up."

Heat was building up in her throat and her chest and her eyes.

"And you're waiting for that day, aren't you? That blessed release when you -"

He cut her off coldly.

"There is nothing blessed about death. Men die. Worms eat them. That's all. Anything that remains merely moves to a different treadmill."

She slumped back. Was that it? Was that all there was for him?

"And yet you keep risking your life to save us. To save everyone. And you don't even like us, do you?"

"People are not very likeable in the main. Teenagers are the least likeable of all."

For once, she was sure he was completely sincere.

**A/N ****Snape's explanation about the optimal time to counter-attack paraphrases famous military strategist, Clausewitz, "On War".**

**I don't share Snape's philosophy; I merely report it.**


	7. Touch and Go

TOUCH AND GO

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione listlessly stirred her lukewarm porridge and brooded. It was silly, she knew she shouldn't let herself think about it, but the closer it got to Ron's birthday, the more she remembered happier times. Last summer, she'd let herself daydream that this year would be the one when he finally noticed her as a girl. She'd spent many happy hours thinking about what presents she'd buy him for Xmas and his seventeenth birthday once they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend.

She knew the boys hadn't appreciated the homework planners she'd bought them in fifth year so she'd planned for Ron's presents this year to be fun rather than just useful. That meant catering to his particular interests, chess and Quidditch. Muggles and wizards played chess by the same rules, but Muggle players and publications so outnumbered their wizard equivalents that she'd chosen to get him Muggle chess books for Xmas. She was confident he'd never have seen anything like them.

_Art of the Middle Game_ and _Capablanca's Best Chess Endings _still lay bundled away in the furthest corner of her trunk. She didn't know what to do with them. She didn't have other chess-playing friends and she wasn't much of a player herself. She doubted if she'd have kept them even if she did play, simply because of the memories. On the other hand, she couldn't bring herself to throw brand new books away. Or any books, for that matter. Perhaps one day she'd find someone to dump them on.

Since she'd covered Chess for Xmas, she'd decided on Quidditch supplies for his birthday. For months, she'd dithered over an acceleration upgrade, to boost his Cleansweep 11's ten second acceleration rate from 70 to 95 mph, or a self-activated Quaffle for solitary Keeper's practice. With his brothers grown up and moving away from the family home, he'd soon have only Ginny to play against. She'd even thought of buying both since it was a very special birthday - not that she could afford it, but you only came of age as a wizard once. But the quarrel had ended all those plans.

"At least I didn't waste my money on someone who doesn't want anything from me," she told herself fiercely. It didn't help. The day she'd dreamed about so often was only days away. She'd have found him alone. She'd have handed him the package and their hands would have touched. He'd have opened it and their eyes would have met and he'd have leaned closer, looking at her and then –

She shook her head roughly. _Stop it; stop it!_ _That had not happened, was not happening, was never going to happen._ A steady rhythm beat like a drum in her head, morning, noon and night, "Ron's turning seventeen and we're still not talking. Ron's turning seventeen and lost to me forever."

_The Daily Prophet_ post-owl had no sympathy with her abstraction. Keeping a safe distance from her hair – obviously it hadn't forgotten getting tangled there last year when she'd been too busy studying Arithmancy to notice its arrival – it pecked her on the arm. She startled awake and took her paper, fumbling in her pocket for a Knut.

She unrolled it gingerly.When Harry sat near her, he always asked if anyone they knew had died. There hadn't been anyone since Hannah Abbot's mother back in mid-September. They'd known about that one before it was printed though, because the news had come during a Herbology lesson and they'd seen Hannah taken out of class.

She stared at the headline in sick recognition. Chorley – that was the family of the Ravenclaw brother and sister in second year that she'd bought pumpkin pasties for on the Hogwarts Express her first trip as a prefect, to cheer them up after a run-in with Malfoy. And Puckle – that was the father of a fourth year Hufflepuff, Muggle-born like herself. She looked across at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables but the affected students weren't there and the others were clustered in quiet tearful knots. With trembling lips, she turned back to her paper.

Their parents weren't dead, they'd disappeared. That was worse, much worse. The newspaper sombrely reminded readers of the disappearances in the previous war with Voldemort. Very few of the bodies had ever been found but those that did turn up were horribly mutilated and looked as if they'd died in great pain.

Stuffing the paper into her book-bag, she jumped up suddenly and hurried out of the Hall for the nearest bathroom, where she was promptly and thoroughly sick. Not for the first time and probably not the last; sensitivity to nausea was a side-effect of taking Dreamless Sleep Potion too regularly.

What if it were her parents next? It was a familiar nightmare. She pictured them trapped in the kitchen at dinner or dragged from their beds in the middle of the night, still wittering on about calling the police, writing to their MP, complaining to the papers.

They'd have no paradigm for what was happening to them. Nothing in their quiet existence and busy dental practice would have prepared them for being Apparated away, shoved to the ground, perhaps, in a field already splashed red with blood. They'd still be talking if they hadn't been _Silencioed. _They'd be attempting to reason with their captors, blustering on about jail and law enforcement and truncheons, or, in more rational mood perhaps, asking how much ransom their kidnappers planned to demand.

They wouldn't even know what it was about till the _Crucios_ started and then only that it had something to do with her. She hadn't told them about facing off a crazed genocidal megalomaniac almost every year, hadn't told them much of anything she and her friends got up to, really. She'd been too afraid that they'd pull her out of school.

It had been touch and go in second year, when she'd spent three weeks Petrified. She'd missed two consecutive fortnightly letters home.Her parents had been frantic with anxiety and resentment, at her for her silence and at the wizarding world for dragging her so far from their reach. It had taken almost the entire summer for her to persuade them to let her come back for third year.

After that, she'd been more than ever resolved to secrecy. Harry needed her and, since he was such an icon of the wizarding world, that meant everyone in her new life needed her, whether they knew it or not. Even the teachers, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape - though perhaps not the Slytherins. Were the Snake-house kids all supporters of Voldemort, she wondered, or only most of them? They'd certainly been eager to join up with Umbridge as Inquisitors last year, though she supposed doubtfully that they might not all have understood that a blow against the headmaster was a blow for the Death Eaters.

She _Evanescoed_ the mess and stared at the empty sink. Vanity, she told herself, vanity and pride and self-importance. Is that what I've been risking my parents' lives for? The smug, self-righteous hugging to myself of the knowledge that I'm needed?

But it was worse than that, even. She knew it. It wasn't only about saving the world or even receiving the accolades of a grateful populace.As if she didn't know by now from Harry's experience that the one didn't necessarily follow the other. It was about staying in this world, at this school, with her first-ever friends. It was about Ron and the bright Weasley-filled future she'd daydreamed of. It was about becoming a witch, the cleverest witch of her age, of any age. It was about selfishness.

Her nails dug into her palms and her teeth set tight. Her chest was empty and her stomach was heavy with self-loathing. She knew she should tell them. They should at least have the choice to stay or to flee, they should at least know they were in danger. But she couldn't. Because as much as it was self-importance and selfishness, the other part was true too. She was needed. Now more than ever. And she couldn't let them take her away.

This was her fight. This had always been her fight. She couldn't give up magic any more than she could give up breathing, it was in her and through her and from her. She'd been a witch before she knew magic was real and she'd be a witch forever, even if Death Eaters broke her wand and her hand and her mind. Voldemort needed no reason to destroy her but the fact of her existence and he needed no cause to attack her parents, or any other Muggles, but the fact of theirs. If she ran away and hid cowering at the other end of the world, still he'd reach out to obliterate her when he could spare the attention; whether last or first, she would always be on his list.

The old familiar arguments churned within her all day till she found herself in Snape's office, facing him across the desk. She would talk to him about it; after all, who else was there? Professor McGonagall had never seemed to welcome confidences. Neither had Snape, of course, but this issue affected him now.

"What should I tell them? I have to tell them something!" She leaned forward in her uncomfortable chair, her hands twisting around her wand. She'd begun to hang on to it during their sessions as he no longer warned her before attacking. He never used any but the simplest jinxes; it was more a test of her vigilance than her skill.

He glanced up indifferently from his marking. There was a tense tight set to his shoulders as if he was holding himself in. His eyes were as dark and dull against his gaunt grim face as twin lumps of coal in the snow.

"As little as possible. Never say any more than you have to, you know that."

She knew he didn't only mean to her parents. That had been the rule of his life, what had kept him alive.

"Yes, sir. But how much is that?"

He remained bent over his parchments. At his temples, she could see a couple of silver hairs amongst the black.

"What have you told them already?" he asked.

_Nothing. Well, almost nothing. _She shook her head, sighing.

"They don't even know that V – that You-Know-Who is back!" she said.

"Do they know he exists?"

She had to think about that.

"They should. When I got my Hogwarts letter, the first thing I did was rush to Flourish and Blotts and buy books about Hogwarts and wizards and recent history. I got _Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events –"_

"Spare me a list of your reading material from six years ago. I remember you as a bucktoothed big-mouthed eleven-year-old far too clearly. No doubt, you babbled endlessly about your discoveries. The question is whether they bothered to listen."

She eyed him resentfully. That was a bit rough, after he'd made her give him a list of all her reading material only a few short weeks ago! And did he always have to slip in the personal insults? If she hadn't been so desperate to talk to someone she'd have spelled the door open and flounced out; she was closer this time and could get there before him.

"Of course they listened! The question is -"

"There's no 'of course' about it. Your mouth never stops flapping. No doubt they cultivated, early in your life, the ability to tune you out without your noticing."

"I believe they listened to me, sir," she said stiffly, "but they may not remember. It wasn't something they ever expected to need to know."

"It still isn't." There were deep lines in his forehead. His knuckles gleamed whitely.

"But -" She wanted to ask him how he could even say that, but she caught herself. If he'd ever lived in a shiny black and white world of moral certainty, he must have long abandoned it. As a spy, he'd always have had to judge according to the unforgiving measure of cost-benefit analysis. Morality meant little in the face of expedience.

"I can't do that, sir," she continued, her shoulders slumped and her voice low. "I've done it for too long already. They need to know at least that they're in danger." _But not that I am._

"Vainglorious child to imagine yourself important enough to be a particular target."

Did he mean that or was he sneering out of habit? She couldn't place it, but somehow he seemed – edgy, uneasy.

"Aren't I? I'm supposed to be your link with Harry when the headmaster's not available. How will you keep in contact if I fall?"

"Think, girl! If the Dark Lord doesn't know of our meetings, then, as far as he's concerned, your importance hasn't changed and your family is in no more danger than they were before we started. If he does, then he would have called me to account."

His eyes remained steady on the parchment under his quill but his hands were still. They were strong hands with long competent fingers. She had a momentary thought that they could probably break necks, if necessary, with the same unhurried efficiency they displayed in brewing Potions or casting hexes. He spoke again.

"If he had, I'd either be dead or I'd have convinced him that you're merely a tool I'm grooming to betray Potter. In which case, it wouldn't make sense for him to take you out of the picture."

She felt as if she'd been dipped in ice. The last few words barely penetrated.

"Am I?" Her voice trembled almost as much as the rest of her. "Are you just grooming me to betray all my friends?"

"Really, Miss Granger, would I tell you if I was?" He sounded bored. No, he sounded as if he wanted to sound bored.

Her eyes prickled. Her hands fisted tightly.

"Look at me and tell me whether you are using me for that," she insisted.

"Gullible Gryffindor child!" he scoffed, his eyes aglow with malicious mockery as they met hers. "Do you think you can tell whether I'm lying? When even my master cannot?"

He didn't say which master. She knew it was no use asking.

"You're playing with me again. Is everything a game to you?"

"I'm not a Gryffindor," he snarled. "I don't play games!"

He'd told her in the headmaster's office that this wasn't a game. But how could she believe, when he claimed to care for nothing and no one, that the outcome mattered as much to him as it did to her? He had only his life and his job to worry about and if he didn't care about the former – as he'd hinted the other day - why would he care about the other?

"You just play at living!" she accused. "Hiding away in your dungeons and pushing everyone away before they can get close to you!"

The quill snapped. He was out of his chair, leaning over the desk at her.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" he spat at her. "Go waste your compassion on someone who wants it, like that red-headed dunderhead you've been mooning over all term!"

She raised her hand and wiped her face. Heart thumping, she glowered up at him. She burned to speak but she dared not. The only time she'd ever seen him this angry was after she and Harry had helped Sirius escape from the Dementors. And it wasn't her he'd been angry with then.

Slowly, the fire died out of his eyes, replaced by a nasty smirk. He sat down again, waving her a brusque dismissal.

"I forgot," he drawled as he reached into a drawer for a new quill. "He doesn't want you either. Pity. Still, there's probably someone desperate enough to be interested. Try Longbottom."

**A/N Ch 18 of HBP, "Birthday Surprises", mentions "further disappearances… including several relatives of students at Hogwarts", but I made up the names. Puckle is a nod to the name JK originally gave Hermione.**

**Quidditch-related presents and side effects of Dreamless Sleep are not canon. Chess books are real.**

**Hermione's background reading list is mentioned in Book 1, ch 6, "The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters".**


	8. Blue Seventeens

BLUE SEVENTEENS

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewer, Bellegeste.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione was not dawdling at the breakfast table in hopes of seeing Ron. People turned seventeen every day. She had better things to do with her time than watch him shovelling down his food or listen to him chattering about his presents and his plans or see him getting birthday kisses from his girlfriend. Of course she wasn't dawdling! It was just that the toast was so incredibly dry today that, even slathered with butter and raspberry jam, she needed to cut it into tiny squares to be able to swallow it.

Harry and Ginny hadn't come down either. She supposed bitterly that they must be still in Gryffindor Tower, celebrating with the birthday boy – man – prat. Unless Ginny was snogging Dean somewhere; he wasn't there either.

Parvati was cooing over what was obviously a birthday present in Lavender's hand, a rectangular box wrapped in red paper with voluptuous shiny pink hearts and blue seventeens dancing over it. Hermione thought she'd never seen anything so unrestrainedly ugly in her life.

"I don't know if I'll give it to him," Lavender was grumbling. "He was really strange this morning, mumbling something about one of those stupid fourth years, you know, the one with the long dark hair, Romania or Rheumatism or something."

Parvati shook her head, smiling.

"He probably just wanted to get it when you two were alone, more romantic that way -"

Hermione scowled at her plate. It had taken her over an hour to choke down one and a half slices. She didn't think she could manage any more. It all seemed stuck in a heavy spiky lump just past her tonsils. She reached out for her pumpkin juice to see if that could clear the obstruction.

Vaguely, she noticed that the Head Table seemed emptier and yet somehow louder than usual. Professor McGonagall wasn't there, though she hardly ever missed a meal, and Professor Slughorn was throwing up his hands in the air while the other teachers seemed to hang on his words. Odd! On any other day, she might have wondered what that was about. Not that there was anything special about today, of course. Everyone had to turn seventeen sometime.

She took a sip of juice and wrinkled her nose. Ugh, foul stuff! Were they using up last year's Halloween decorations or something? She pushed her glass away and stood up. The library would be open soon. Maybe she could find something to read till it was time for Apparition lessons.

Just before she reached the door, tall black billowing robes swept in front of her and turned to block her path. No doubt Professor Snape was glaring down at her with an even nastier sneer than usual on his pale grim face after that fight in his office two nights ago. Let him! She might have to listen to him here in the Great Hall in front of everybody, but she didn't have to look.

"Miss Granger," the hateful voice drawled. "Has unrequited passion prompted you to add poisoning to your list of exploits? Not quite up to your usual standards, I'm afraid, but if this experience doesn't teach him his lesson, no doubt you'll have many other opportunities."

What? Had the mystery attacker who put Katie in St Mungo's tried poison this time? And on Hogsmeade weekend again! So it hadn't been much use cancelling it, after all. But why was he accusing her? Her chest swelled but her head remained bowed.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," she muttered.

"No need to dissemble. Your impulse to rid the school of that empty-headed lout is eminently understandable, I'm sure."

She clenched her teeth. Who? Every boy except Malfoy was an empty-headed lout in Snape's eyes. She forced herself to take a deep calming breath before attempting to speak through gritted teeth.

"I didn't know there'd been another attack, sir, but I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. May I be excused, please?"

Snape loomed over her but she wasn't going to let him frighten her. He couldn't do anything here except threaten detentions or points docking. Probably he was looking for an excuse, but she didn't think he'd do it without one, not while she was under Professor Dumbledore's special protection.

"Presently," he said. "You're in rather a hurry for someone who claims to be innocent. Perhaps you can tell me who besides yourself had a reason to attack Mr Weasley?"

RON? The cheerful buzz of breakfast conversations became a hot roaring in her ears and the room spun. With Herculean effort, she forced the sick back down her throat to lie like stone just below her collarbone. Not that she cared if she threw up on Snape's boots, but it would probably delay the flow of information.

She stared up into cold black eyes. His sneer was quite as unpleasant as she'd expected. She didn't spare it a thought.

"What's happened to Ron?" she breathed. "Is he all right? Where is he?"

"It seems likely he'll recover. He's in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's care. Fortunately, or unfortunately, according to your view, the poison was able to be neutralised by the rapid internal application of a bezoar." He moved past her through the door and down the corridor.

Immediately she darted past him, flinging over her shoulder, "I beg your pardon, sir, but I have to go."

She didn't notice at the time that he made no attempt to stop or slow her nor did she feel his considering gaze on her back as she ran.

Harry was already waiting outside the hospital wing when she got there.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"It started with one of those love potions you warned me about," he muttered, staring at the floor. "A box of chocolate cauldrons. He thought they were a birthday present. But when he punched me, I knew they were from my trunk from Xmas -"

Hermione blinked. At any other time, she'd have asked why he was still holding on to drugged chocolates three months after receiving them, but it didn't seem important now. She didn't see what punching had to do with anything either, but there were more important things to think about.

"So it was the chocolates?" Was it Harry they were trying to poison? Only then why hadn't Katie tried to give the necklace to him when they followed her out of the pub?

"No, those were from Romilda Vane, like you said. He punched me for insulting her – I only said I thought he was joking – so that was a dead give-away. I had to trick him into thinking she'd be in Slughorn's office so he'd come with me. Slughorn mixed him the antidote and also gave him some mead as a pick-me-up. He said it was a Xmas present he didn't get around to giving Dumbledore. But as soon as Ron drank it, he fell down and his arms and legs started jerking and his face was turning blue!" Harry's face was white and pinched-looking as he said it. He took a long gasping breath and continued.

"It was horrible. His eyes were all bulgy and he was drooling. Slughorn didn't seem to notice anything wrong at first and when he did he didn't know what to do. But luckily I knew he probably still had that bezoar in his kit. The one I gave him in that lesson, remember?"

Hermione nodded wordlessly. As if she could forget! She'd been so angry with Harry about the bezoar, but if he hadn't cheated Ron might not be alive now. There was an awful icy emptiness in her chest.

"So I grabbed the kit and I pulled everything out," Harry explained. "I could hear Ron struggling to breathe. He sounded like he was gargling, all hoarse and raspy. Slughorn was still just standing there. I didn't know if I'd find it in time! I thought I was too late."

Hermione's hands fisted and her jaw clenched. Too late! Were they sure it wasn't too late, even with the bezoar? But Snape had said Ron would probably recover. She clung to that reassurance as Harry rattled on.

"But I did and I got it down his throat. After a bit he was breathing again and Slughorn ran and got McGonagall and Pomfrey. They brought him up here and then Dumbledore came and I had to tell him what happened. Then McGonagall came out and I had to tell her and then Madam Pomfrey asked all the same questions all over again. But she says he'll be all right. He'll have to stay here a week or so and keep taking Essence of Rue. She was going to speak to Slughorn, after he finished breakfast, about brewing a fresh batch. They won't let us in. I tried."

At that moment, Ginny hurtled up to them, her hair wild and her face flushed.

"Where's Ron? McGonagall said he was poisoned?" Her voice rose unnaturally high and squeaky. "Why would anyone want to poison Ron?"

Hermione winced. Snape had accused her of poisoning Ron, but only to annoy her. If he'd believed it he'd have interrogated her longer. She tuned out Harry's explanations, which he was giving again from the beginning, and pressed her cold face against the cool doors.

Oh, Ron, Ron! How could she have been so stupid? Blind and petty and just bone-achingly stupid, to stop talking to him just because he was kissing Lavender? Only let him get better and she'd let him kiss a hundred Lavenders! Ron! Ron, don't die, Ron! Don't, she couldn't bear it! Never to see his dear funny face as he grimaced at another half-done Potions essay. Never to hear his teasing bemused voice complaining that she was spending too long in the library. Never to feel his large rough hand grabbing hers to pull her out the door into sunshine or snow. How could she ruin six years of friendship for a silly dream?

It wasn't his fault if he didn't like her that way, if she'd only been fooling herself to think that maybe he was just shy.She should have just accepted that it wasn't meant to be and let him like who he wanted to like, kiss who he wanted to kiss. It wasn't her business if he liked someone else. If she were a true friend she'd have been happy for his happiness. Tears welled up in her eyes. Only let him get better and she'd never criticise his love life or his laziness or his loud laugh again!

It was an endless day. None of them was willing to move away from the doors but they weren't allowed in. The closest they got was occasional glimpses of the room as people came and went.

Slughorn came back with extra potion, a third year went in with large white cauliflower ears and came out ten minutes later with flowerlike white earrings instead, and a first year rushed by, sneezing red and yellow frogs. Madam Pomfrey gave up shooing them away and came out at lunch and dinner with plates of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice but she had nothing fresh to tell them.

By the time Ron's parents came at seven, Hermione felt as if she'd lived through aeons of time and weathered oceans of feeling till she was as old and dead and dried-up as a fossil embedded in rock.Mr and Mrs Weasley rushed past the waiting three, stopping just long enough to tell Ginny she couldn't come in with them, and stayed only a short while before leaving to speak to the headmaster.

At eight, Madam Pomfrey opened the doors and let them through. Finally! Ron was asleep and a good colour. Occasionally he turned over or mumbled, but even the arrival of two of his brothers ten minutes later didn't rouse him.

George and Fred had come from Hogsmeade, where they'd apparently been scouting Zonko's. Hermione listened with half an ear as they asked all the same questions that Harry and Ginny had been asking each other all day. No, of course it wasn't Slughorn trying to poison Harry, how ridiculous! But why would the twins know better when they'd never met him? Was the poisoner after Dumbledore? Perhaps, but only if he knew as little of the Potions master as the twins did.

"Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself," she explained wearily.

"Er-my-nee," croaked Ron from between them.

She stared anxiously at him but he only muttered something inaudible and went back to sleep, snoring this time. Hermione blinked back tears of relief. He was going to be all right. He even recognised voices.

At that moment, Hagrid strode in. It must have been raining again today because his hair was wet and his footprints were muddy. He'd only just heard about it from Professor Sprout because Aragog was worse and he'd been in the Forest all day, keeping vigil over his oldest friend just as they had been over theirs.

He had even sillier ideas. Bumping off a Quidditch team one by one? Even Slytherin players wouldn't have sunk that low, not now that Malfoy had quit. In fact, she doubted even he would have been crazed enough to attempt murder for the sake of a game. Or was that just because she didn't understand the lure of the sport? She never had. It just seemed silly to her, racing around trying to knock balls into hoops or catch a winged walnut or knock each other off the broom.

Whoever was trying to kill people was very incompetent. Neither the poison nor the necklace seemed to have reached their intended target. On the other hand, his very incompetence made him all the more ruthless; he didn't seem to care how many people he finished off in reaching his victim. She said so.

Just then, Mr and Mrs Weasley came rushing back in to thank Harry for saving Ron. How many Weasleys was that he'd saved now? Ginny in second year and Mr Weasley last year and, if one thought about it, all of them perhaps when he'd defeated Voldemort as a baby.

"All I can say is that it was a lucky day for the Weasleys when Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry," Mr Weasley said as Mrs Weasley crushed Harry in her arms. He was too limp to resist.

Hermione couldn't resist a stab of hurt. She knew it was silly and petty and unfair, but she couldn't help it. She'd been friends with Ron since first year Halloween, only two months less than Harry, but Harry was an honorary Weasley and she wasn't. They hadn't spared her a glance either time they came in, they obviously hadn't missed her at Xmas and she couldn't help remembering how Mrs Weasley had believed the worst of her two years ago on Rita Skeeter's say-so. She'd been disappointed with her tiny Easter egg that year but this year she wasn't sure she'd even get one; so easily could they excise her from their lives.

Madam Pomfrey returned then, before Harry could answer, and reminded them there were only supposed to be six visitors at a time. She'd told them that when Hagrid came, but there had only been six then. Now there were two too many. Hermione and Harry knew they should be the ones to leave.

Hagrid came too. It was a good chance to talk things over privately. He was worried about more than Aragog and Ron. If the attacks continued sliding through Hogwarts' defences, the board of governors might decide to close the school down permanently. She could hardly believe it. Where would they all study if the school closed? Where would she study?

Then Hagrid let slip news that stopped her in her tracks. Professor Dumbledore was angry with Professor Snape? They'd been arguing in the Forest? Professor Snape was saying that the headmaster "took too much for granted and he didn't want to do it any more"?

Didn't want to do what any more? Surely not her lessons? She'd known she'd made him angry, but as angry as that?

If she'd thought the miseries of the day had dried up her ability to feel, she'd been wrong. She was hot and cold and heavy and light-headed all at once. Her head was whirling and her stomach was spinning. Had she somehow got to Snape, the way he was always getting to her? Did he hate her that much?

Luckily the other two didn't seem to have noticed her shock. She gulped and walked forward with hasty steps, catching up in time to return Harry's meaningful glare when Hagrid mentioned making investigations in Slytherin House. Could it be that simple, that Dumbledore wasn't satisfied with his attempts to identify the killer? Harry thought so, but when had he ever been right about Snape?

Besides, Professor Dumbledore trusted Professor Snape implicitly. He'd told her so.

**A/N "Winged walnut" is a nod to book 1, ch 11, Quidditch, and Harry's first impressions of the Snitch. Harry's account of Ron's poisoning and the subsequent conversations are based on HBP, ch 18, Birthday Surprises, and ch 19, Elf Tails.**


	9. Choices and Consequences

CHOICES AND CONSEQUENCES

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewer, Bellegeste.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

When they reached Gryffindor Tower at the end of that endless day of Ron's birthday poisoning, Hermione hurried straight into her dormitory. She was too upset to consider that Lavender and Parvati might still be up and waiting to interrogate her about where she'd been all day, and, more importantly in their eyes, where Ron had been.

She had no choice but to tell them. Their reaction was predictably acrimonious.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lavender shrilled. "I'm his girlfriend, not you! How could you not say anything?"

Truthfully, it hadn't even occurred to her that Lavender should know, but she knew better than to tell her so.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Professor Snape told me at breakfast -"

"Snape? Why would he tell you?" Parvati scoffed.

She wasn't going to put ideas into their heads by telling them of his accusation. Sometimes it was better to stick with the abridged version.

"Professor Snape! They don't know who did it. He was asking me, as one of Ron's closest friends -"

"One of Ron's friends? That's a laugh! You haven't talked to him in three months!"

Hermione took a deep breath and reminded herself that hexing Lavender into a black-beetle and stepping on her wouldn't help anything and besides, it was against school rules.

"He was asking me, as one of Ron's closest friends, whether I knew of anyone that might have wanted to harm him, but I didn't, of course. I think the poisoner was probably the same person who got Katie last time we were supposed to have a Hogsmeade weekend."

"But why would he ask you and not me?"

Hermione turned away so they couldn't see her rolling her eyes. It was the first time in six years of school that Lavender had actually wanted Professor Snape to talk to her but she wouldn't have liked it at all if he had.

"Because he's seen us together in his Potions classroom for five years and you only got together with Ron around Xmas. Why would Snape have noticed?"

Lavender blushed.

"He's caught us snogging in the hallways twice," she muttered.

For someone who'd spent the entire day telling herself she wouldn't care how many girls Ron snogged if only he'd get better, Hermione wasn't giving a convincing impression of not caring. Her nails were digging into her palms and her eyes were smouldering.

"Why don't you ask him then?" she snapped. "I'm sure he'd love to explain why he doesn't keep records of who you're currently kissing!"

Lavender and Parvati exchanged indignant glances and Lavender decided to return to the argument she had a chance of winning.

"Well, you knew!" she accused. "And you sat around all day spitefully saying nothing!"

Hermione pushed Crookshanks off her nightie and reached for the string of her bed-curtains.

"If you were so fond of Ron you'd have found out where he was somehow! You must have known something was wrong when none of us turned up to Apparition lessons! Why on earth didn't you ask Professor McGonagall? Or come up to the Hospital Wing to check for yourself?"

Lavender sniffed and turned her head away.

"You're such a pig, Hermione!" Parvati complained, patting her friend on the shoulder. "She thought you'd made up and gone off somewhere together. Of course she wouldn't ask McGonagall about that!"

Hermione sat down suddenly on her bed. Crookshanks miaouwed his displeasure at being so rudely disturbed.

"Oh." She hadn't expected to feel guilty. "I'm sorry. You're right, I should have sent you a message somehow. I was too upset to think about it. We all were."

"All?"

"Me, Harry, Ginny." Her shoulders sagged. She'd bargained for Ron's life and naturally she had to keep her word, but did it have to be right now? Couldn't she have just one night's peace first? "He almost died! We waited outside the infirmary all day on the off-chance they'd let us see him and it was eight o' clock before they did. I'm sorry, but we weren't thinking about anything except whether we'd ever see him alive again."

"Just don't forget that he's still _my_ boyfriend," Lavender said. "And don't try to get him back just because now he's interesting!"

Hermione choked on her tongue.

"Interesting? Interesting?" Why had she felt sympathetic to that shallow boy-chaser? _Interesting?_ She pulled her curtains shut. "Look, I can't be bothered to fight with you. Just shut up and go to bed."

The lights had been out for an hour but Hermione was still lying awake, staring into the darkness. Ron was alive. That was good in all sorts of ways she couldn't even think about now. Their quarrel had evaporated as if it had never been. If he never became more than a friend, so be it. At least he'd be a living friend that she could talk to and hang out with, instead of just a memory.

She'd sort that out tomorrow, after he woke up again. It was an entirely different problem that was exercising her mind.

Professor Snape! Sour, sarcastic, slippery Slytherin; he'd made every training session a torture. Every lesson she'd debated why she was continuing and whether the double opportunity to learn from him and to play an adult part in the war was sufficient reason to endure his snarling company. True, she'd learnt so much in such a short time, Occlumency, mind talk, strategy, philosophy. First and foremost though had been his advice, "Never agree to a request without knowing what it entails," a truth that his obnoxious attitude had perforce hammered home.

She knew now all right. The headmaster's request had entailed blood, toil, tears and sweat. Snape always fought to win, dirty tricks just another arrow in his quiver, and she'd had to learn to match him. He stripped her bare and laughed at her nakedness; he tied her in knots and let her struggle her way out of them.

She'd thought it was a burden she'd happily relinquish, yet now the thought that he might want to end it only filled her with fresh desire for the task. She felt no triumph at having perhaps outlasted him, only regret at lost chances.

She sat up and punched her pillow savagely. Crookshanks shifted his bulk and glowered at her, yellow cat's-eyes glittering with disdain.

"Not you too, Crooks," she grumbled. "I don't need any criticisms from you, thank you very much. Go back to sleep." The half-kneazle showed his opinion of that suggestion with arched back and stretched front paws, claws extended.

"Oh, all right!" Hermione snapped. She couldn't sleep anyway. Snape would be livid with her for turning up hours after curfew but she couldn't bring herself to care. At least by now Harry would surely have given up on checking the Marauders' Map till the morning. That meant that, in one way, there was less chance of discovery and so she'd tell Snape if he tried to blast her.

Ten minutes later, she was hissing arguments at a reluctant portrait. The Fat Lady didn't want to let her through until she threatened her with an eraser spell. Not that she'd really have done it, of course, but a bluff was as good as an honest threat if one kept a straight face. Now all she needed to do was avoid Filch and his mangy pet.

Snape wasn't in his office. She stared blankly at the empty room, her wand-light flooding it with ghostly pallor. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have gone to bed before 11.30. Now what?

A soft voice sounded in her ear from behind.

"The poisons are locked and warded, Miss Granger. If you were hoping to find a more effective toxin I'm afraid you've wasted your time."

She jumped and whirled, letting go the door, which clanged thunderously behind her. Heart racing, she jumped again.

"Professor Snape!"

He loomed menacingly over her. Inconsequentially, she registered his black robes and felt a moment's relief that at least she hadn't disturbed him from preparing for bed. He must have been patrolling the halls again.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't drag you off to Professor McGonagall to be expelled for theft and attempted murder," he sneered.

She huffed impatiently. Did he never leave off?

"You know perfectly well it wasn't me that attacked Ron, sir, and Professor McGonagall wouldn't believe it for a moment."

"You're sure of that, are you?"

The shadows deepened the harsh sneering lines that ran from his beaky nose to his gash of a mouth. Even six months ago, she would have been scared. Loyal to the Order or not, he'd been a Death Eater once and she'd read enough modern history to know what kind of crimes might lie in his past. His petty cruelty in the classroom was nothing to what he had probably been doing at her age.

It didn't matter. He'd trampled through her mind with hobnailed boots and spoken without words in her head. She knew him now. In school he was all teacher; he'd as soon hex a student as tango with the Giant Squid in the Great Hall.

"Sure enough, yes. I needed to speak to you, sir. Please."

"Fifty points -"

"Taking points might raise questions neither of us dare answer, sir. Give me detention instead - now, immediately. While Harry's asleep and not looking at his Map."

He snorted.

"Detention in the middle of the night?"

"Why not? I've had a night detention before, sir. In first year, Professor McGonagall caught us breaking curfew and we had to spend the whole night helping Hagrid search the Forbidden Forest for the unicorn-killer."

"I clearly remember points being taken as well," he said, cocking an eyebrow. One hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor and twenty from his own house for Draco's involvement. He'd had a stern word with the boy over that.

"Well, yes, they were, but you already took fifty points last session and I believe they were unwarranted. You did agree that I could ask Professor Dumbledore to adjudicate, sir."

"So you're offering to serve a detention and call it quits?"

At her nod, he scowled but led her through the heavy door into his office. He conjured her a toothbrush and a bucket of soapy water.

"The floor hasn't been scrubbed for a while," he told her. She sighed and got down on hands and knees while he watched from his chair. "You wished to speak to me? Speak."

She bit her lip. This had been a really stupid idea. He was quite capable of staying up all night purely to prolong her punishment. It wasn't a very large floor but if she had to scrub every inch with the toothbrush she'd still be there at breakfast. Lucky tomorrow was Sunday.

"You told the headmaster he was taking too much for granted and you didn't want to do it any more -" she muttered.

"How do you know that?" He was leaning forward, eyes blazing, long-fingered hand clenched around his wand..

She kept her eyes safely turned away and Occluded for all she was worth.

"I can't tell you, sir."

"I can guess, I suppose. Potter and his cloak."

"No, someone else entirely but – but I can't tell you." If she said the hearer had let it slip, he'd know she meant Hagrid. "Is it me? These lessons? Is that what you don't want to do any more?"

"I never wanted to do them in the first place."

She heard both the smirk and the bitterness in his voice.

"I didn't mean – I didn't mean – If I offended you I'm very sorry."

"Nothing so easily mended as that. Do you think me so weak as to be frightened away by petty insults or disobedience?"

He sounded weary. Hermione rocked back on her heels and stared at him. His eyes were as dark as unlit caves. If it wasn't these lessons, then – Oh no! The headmaster's words that snowy January day came back to her.

_Severus will make any sacrifice to further our cause; that is the measure by which he acts. Being a spy forces him into situations where there are no good choices, only greater or lesser degrees of bad. He has had to do terrible things, things that have scarred him and made his life bitter, but what needs to be done he will do, whatever the cost to himself. _

She hadn't understood then. She'd quibbled that it didn't sound very Slytherin and the headmaster had replied that dedication and cunning were not mutually exclusive, but she hadn't understood. That wasn't a character assessment; that was a prediction.

She gulped.

"It's coming, isn't it? A day when you have to do something terrible because it's the least bad option." And she was to be the fall-back witness if one were ever required, to testify for Snape if the headmaster could not. She wondered how the Unbreakable Vow fitted in and whether it was the cause or the result of whatever terrible choice he was facing.

His gaze held hers captive. The toothbrush dripped unheeded on her robe.

"That's not your concern," he said. "You promised at the outset not to seek out my secrets."

Her eyes filled. She needed to blink but she couldn't look away.

"But it is coming, isn't it?"

He lifted his chin, glaring down his large nose to where she crouched in front of him.

"I believe so."

Her stomach heaved. She swallowed hard. This was not the time to be sick, not in front of this unflinching, unbending man. She wondered suddenly if the things he had to do made him feel sick too. Was his bad temper partly due to chronic indigestion? He'd always had a sickly look, his skin pallid with yellow undertones, his hair lank and uncared-for.

"And you won't tell me," she whispered.

"You'd try to stop it. You couldn't help yourself."

Still she couldn't look away.

"Is it -"

"Nothing to do with your friends. They'll be protected."

She bit a hole in her lower lip.

"My family then?"

"Your family are as safe as any other Muggle parents of Hogwarts students. Their house has been warded and there are no particular plans against them to my knowledge."

She scrambled up to lean across his desk, nose to nose.

"That isn't saying much though, is it? I still have to write to them; they're expecting my letter by Monday. You haven't told me what to say."

"You are supposed to be scrubbing the floor," he snarled. "At this rate you'll be here all week."

She took a step back, her hand clenched around the toothbrush.

"I can't go on deceiving them. They need to know. They deserve to know."

He stared her down, waving her back to her task and waiting for her to resume before he continued with slow precision.

"I could stand surety for them, but you would not like the cost."

She looked up with dawning hope as her hand scrubbed steadily at the same inch of stone.

"Tell me."

He paused, looking her over with cold contemplation as she held her breath. Trust shone from her eyes.

"Instead of hiding our meetings from the Dark Lord, I would have to tell him. And rest assured that if he believes I am shaping you for a weapon against your friends, it will not be long before he expects me to aim you. Is it worth it to you? Your parents against your friends, at the risk of imperilling everything you believe in?"

She recoiled as if she'd been struck. Hot tears splashed into the bucket. The toothbrush dropped with a clatter to the floor.

"You're so cruel. How can you expect me to make a choice like that?" she choked.

"You are making this choice every moment of your life. I don't force you to it, I merely draw your attention to the consequences of every action you take and every word you speak."

She flinched. Her tears came faster until she could barely breathe for sniffling.

"I can't! You know I can't!"

In the subsequent brittle silence, his words fell with unrelenting candour.

"Refusing to choose is also a choice – and generally a choice for the worst. Do you choose not to choose, Miss Granger? Must I choose for you?"

She sniffed and rubbed her eyes hard.

"Please."

"I will not tell. I never had any intention of doing so. The risk is too great and the reward too small."

Hermione's head jerked up at these incredible words. Open-mouthed and speechless, she struggled to calm her breathing. That offer was just another one of his games? Oh, he was horrible, horrible! He read her thoughts and his lips twisted in wry acknowledgement as he continued.

"This was another lesson, one I've been trying to teach you for a long time. Do you understand at last? You could not make Longbottom a competent student by telling him the answers and you cannot save your parents by giving your enemy the advantage. Good intentions are a comfort to no one but yourself - and then only until you open your eyes and see what you've wrought under their influence."

Tears still wet on her cheeks, Hermione stared into his bleak black eyes. She gulped. _I don't want to do this any more._

It was a bitter realisation. So this was really what Professor Dumbledore's request entailed, to be repeatedly forced to the choice when every option was a splinter to the heart. She hadn't heard Snape say _Legilimens_ but she heard his answer in her head.

_Neither do I. But want is not my master. _

He continued aloud, "When I do what I soon must, it will seem to you like the greatest betrayal. You will have to choose whether you still trust me. Thousands of lives will be waiting on your choice. I hope you will choose wisely."


	10. Hug a Scorpion

HUG A SCORPION

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione had expected Professor Snape to keep her scrubbing all night, so she was astonished when Professor Snape vanished her brush and bucket, acidly remarking that he was not prepared to waste any more time on training her unless she was truly committed to the task.

"I won't hold you to your word, given like a true Gryffindor without thought or understanding. It would be better for you to draw back now while the headmaster and I still have time to try other contingency plans than to continue half-hearted and let us down in the end. I will give you a week's grace to think it over – if you can think of anything other than your hormones."

She bit her lip, wishing yet again that he could learn to request or convey information without the obligatory attached insults.

"You said it would be soon," she reminded him. "Is there even time to try another plan?"

"That is not your concern. If you're too weak to stand the strain, then the less you know the better."

Was he serious or was this just another game? If it was true, as he'd implied, that he'd not passed on news of their meetings to Voldemort, then she knew enough already to condemn him to a long, slow death. All these conversations could be explained away – he must be a master at concocting believable stories to have lasted this long – everything was excusable but the fact of his secrecy.

Still she wouldn't mind a week's respite. His company was by turns stimulating and draining, but never ever pleasant.

"What about my letter?" she asked, without much hope. She had to send it by nightfall.

"I've better things to do with my time than to indulge your desire for someone to do your thinking for you."

Tamping down her temper, she took a few breaths before answering.

"It's for your safety as well, sir. You wouldn't want me to give away any of your secrets and it surely wouldn't suit you if my parents tried to remove me from school!"

His cold black gaze considered her as he traced his finger over his lips.

"Very well. Sit down at the desk and write what I tell you." He nodded at the hard straight-backed chair across from his, selecting a piece of parchment and a quill for her use.

"_Dear Mum and Dad_," he dictated, mouthing the words with a grimace of distaste, as soon as she seated herself, "or whatever you normally call them". She raced to keep up.

_"Currently the Ministry of Magic is chasing a politically-motivated criminal gang, who call themselves Death Eaters. They're a bit like the IRA used to be, with random attacks in public places, except they don't ever give warnings beforehand."_

The IRA? When did he hear – Oh, right. He'd told her he was familiar with Muggle studies. It was very surprising for a pureblood to be quite so knowledgeable though. Even such a Muggle-lover as Mr Weasley seemed to get muddled about Muggledom. She might almost wonder if – No, that was ridiculous. Snape couldn't be anything but the purest of the pure.

_"I'm perfectly safe because Hogwarts is the most protected place in the world, but you need to be a bit more careful than usual because they're the ones behind some of the scary things you've been reading in the papers. If you see one or more people in black cloaks and white masks, you need to get as far away from them as you can as quickly as you can. If there's nowhere to go, you need to hide until they leave the area. Don't try to reason with them and never ever approach them."_

Hermione looked at the draft letter sidelong, with narrowed eyes and puckered mouth. He'd generated it with barely a pause for thought. His intellect was amazing, she mused, not for the first time; it even sounded like her.

"That's all? That's all the information you think they should have?" It didn't seem like much.

He shrugged.

"What more do they need?"

She stared at the scribbled words, searching for an answer.

"Well, what about You-Know-Who?" Surely that at least was essential knowledge? Though, to be truthful, she couldn't think why.

"Unless your parents are in regular contact with the wizarding world, no purpose will be served by mentioning him."

He looked bad-tempered. He always looked bad-tempered. It had never given her chest a painful twist before.

"They might remember what I said in first year and ask questions."

He raised an exasperated eyebrow.

"In which case, you'll reply with as little detail and as much reassurance as possible. I would have thought a witch of your supposed calibre could have generated this without my aid. All they need to know about you is that bringing you home would serve no purpose. All they need to know for themselves is how to avoid danger."

"They need to know that Britain's not as safe as elsewhere. They need to think about whether they should move."

But they hadn't moved for the IRA, she remembered. Oh, he was clever! But these were wizards, far more dangerous than bombers or gunmen – only it didn't work like that, did it? Dead was dead, no matter whether it was wizard or Muggle who did the deed.

"I've already told you they're in no more danger than any other parents of Muggle-born students," he said.

"But that's more than if they had no connection with our world, isn't it?" she argued.

"Barely." His lips thinned.

"But some Hogwarts parents have been killed."

"Not for that reason. Their deaths were incidental, not purposeful."

"Well, that's a comfort, isn't it?" she jeered.

"It should be, yes," he snapped. "They are as safe as the Order can make them. If they decide to leave, they might want you to go too."

She considered this.

"They can't make me. I'm of age as a witch."

"Not as a Muggle," he reminded her.

"No, not yet, but so soon into next year that it wouldn't be worth their while trying to stop me from returning next year.Who cares where I spend the holidays?"

"Who indeed?"

Amazing how much bored condescension two words could hold. She gritted her teeth.

"Unless – Would it make a difference to you? Do I have to stay in case I'm needed?"

"Your holiday arrangements are a matter of complete indifference to me. I will know how to contact you." He glowered at her till she dropped her eyes. "Very well, you may insert the words 'and who oppose the inclusion of muggle-borns into wizard society' after 'Death Eaters". Now make a fair copy, add whatever gossip or news you would normally send them and turn your mind to something more useful than pointless worry."

"Easy for you to say, sir. Who do you have to worry about?"

He waved her away. As she opened the door to leave, she thought she caught a whisper of thought from behind her.

"_Everyone – and no one."_

The questions disturbed her all week. As she squeezed herself between two half-familiar third years in the Quidditch stands the following Saturday, she was still pondering. Was there really a choice? Had there ever been? If a link with Professor Snape was as necessary as Professor Dumbledore believed, could she dare break it? Did she still want to?

She wasn't sure what she thought of Snape any more. She'd always disapproved his temper as much as she admired his abilities, yet now he triggered a strange twist of sympathy in her chest. She still didn't like him – he made very sure of that – but if ever there was someone in need of a friendly hug it was him. Not from her though, urggh! She'd as soon hug a scorpion. Its sting would probably be less painful.

She shivered a little and pursed her lips. It must have been a long time since he'd experienced casual affection. His school-friends had all grown up to be Death Eaters and only one had been a girl. Somehow she doubted Bellatrix had ever been the hugging type, except for the convenience of the victim's back to her knife, and boys just didn't.

"Where's our team?" Hermione's spiky-haired neighbour grumbled. It was almost time for the game to start and the Hufflepuffs were already on the pitch.

"They were all in the changing room when I came down with Ginny," Hermione said.

All but one! Harry had popped up to the hospital wing to see Ron before the match. Surely Ron would have sent him off in plenty of time? Ron was even keener on Quidditch than Harry now, though Harry was captain.

Her throat closed. Harry didn't seem to be keen on anything any more except proving his two least favourite Slytherins to be villains. He was even ignoring the headmaster's instructions about Slughorn's true memory in favour of following Malfoy around, waiting for him to stumble. She didn't know whether that was his attempt to engage with the problem or to distract himself from it. Did he really think Voldemort would recruit such a weakling at all, let alone for anything important?

She frowned, chewing on her lower lip. If Harry ever found out she'd been training with Snape he'd think her the worst of traitors, even though it had been the headmaster's idea. She didn't like keeping secrets from him, but sometimes she had to.

"Here they are! About time!" The other third year punched a jubilant hand in the air.

All around them, red-scarfed supporters jumped and cheered. Hermione joined in, but her heart wasn't in it because Harry seemed barely to notice. He mounted his Firebolt without even glancing at them and, after shaking hands with the other captain, flew straight up high in the air and quickly round the pitch, neck craned and eyes searching. He seemed less interested in playing than in just getting it over with.Her hands clenched. Not that she cared about Quidditch, but she hated to see him so detached from everything he used to care about.

Poor Harry! He'd told them on the ride home last June that he was the one who'd have to face Voldemort and kill or be killed. Who could care about studies or sport in face of that doom? What did school matter when you didn't even know whether you'd be alive to finish it? Even she didn't look forward to her N.E.W.T.s with the same enthusiasm as before.

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle…"

Hermione jerked upright. Goodness! Was that Luna in the commentator's podium next to Professor McGonagall, rambling on about how nice Ginny was and making wild guesses at players' names? It must be! Who else would call a match as if they were describing yesterday's breakfast menu?

A moment later, she was groaning dutifully with the other Gryffindor supporters.McLaggen was so busy telling everyone else what to do he'd forgotten to keep the Quaffle from the hoop. Wanker! (As Ron would say.) For one hot shamed moment, she writhed at the thought she'd actually gone out with him once and even said he was a better Keeper than Ron. How could she? Ron might get nervous, but at least he kept his eye on his own job instead of harassing everyone else.

She wondered if Ron could hear the commentary from the hospital wing. It was good being friends again though there were still some things they couldn't talk about, like the last three months and what he might be saying to Lavender when she wasn't around. That was something she didn't want to know.

McLaggen had let in another Quaffle, but instead of being abashed, as Ron would have been, he was barking commands to everyone else. Prat! Good thing he'd carefully avoided her ever since Snape had caught him that time. Funny, if Snape hadn't been so vitriolic one might almost say it had been nice of him to protect her like that. He was always protecting them in his spiteful sneering way. The velvet hand in the prickle-skin glove.

Dour, difficult, disagreeable man! The more she got to know him, the less she thought she knew him. Was he possibly being "nice" when he'd accused her of poisoning Ron? He hadn't told her how close Ron came to dying till after he'd reassured her that he was alive and recovering. If that had been anyone else, she'd have credited them with trying to soften the blow.

More goals were scored on both sides but Hermione's thoughts were too loud for her to hear the cheers and groans till suddenly Harry's voice roared above the crowd, saying something about a bat and goalposts. She looked up just in time to see prat-boy mis-hit a Bludger to Harry's head. There was Harry's broom hovering empty in mid-air and there was Harry hurtling unconscious to the ground as his Beaters hurtled after him on their brooms to break his fall. She screamed.

Her first coherent thought after that was, "Harry's broom! Not again!" In third year, his broom had been shredded by the Whomping Willow after he fell off it. She stood up, shakily calling out, "_Accio_ broom!" and her outstretched hand caught it. Then she fell back into her seat, almost knocking her neighbours out of theirs, and started to hyperventilate.

For several minutes all she could think about was breathing. By the time her lungs resumed filling and emptying at a steady pace, Harry had been carried off the field - "Alive but unconscious," Professor McGonagall had announced, drowning out Luna who was still placidly droning on about the wind-break capacity of Harry's glasses _(What?)_ – and the Gryffindor players were locked in argument. After a short hesitation, the Hufflepuff players continued scoring without them, as they were well entitled to do.

Ginny's voice rose above the hubbub.

"Right, you lot, be quiet and listen! I'll substitute Harry. Seamus, if you're in the crowd, suit up and take my place as a Chaser. McLaggen, you ruddy prat! Guard the hoops and keep your fat mouth shut or the next Bludger will have your name on it! Places everyone. Let's try and save the match for Harry!"

Hermione didn't wait around to see the inevitable slaughter. After safely depositing Harry's broom, she went up to the Hospital Wing to see him, but she wasn't allowed in. Instead Madam Pomfrey sent her to her own bed with a Calming Draught and instructions not to get up till the next day. She must have looked sicker than she'd realised.

Sunday was a quiet day. She was allowed to visit her friends for no more than an hour so she spent the rest of her time in the library, checking Almanacs and Compendiums for the elusive"Prince". She was still determined to prove to Harry that "he" might be female. (When had he started to think that only boys could be clever or strong? If she wasn't careful, he'd start shutting her out the way he always did Ginny, under the guise of "protection".) She'd had no luck so far, but maybe the back-copies of _The Prophet_ would give her a lead.

Returning to the common-room that evening, she walked in on a screaming match between Ginny and Dean. The room was almost deserted, though a seventh year was lounging on the sofa, a book in his hand and a pair of purple earmuffs on his head. Hermione tactfully kept her eyes on the floor as she sped past. Nobody wanted to brave Ginny's temper when she was in a huff; she was twice as scary as a Mrs Weasley howler.

"All right, keep your shirt on!" Dean protested. Hermione smiled inwardly at the thought that he was probably more used to entreating the opposite. "It was just funny is all -"

"Funny!" Ginny shouted. "Funny? He could have died and you're calling it funny?"

Hermione hurried to her own room before her itchy fingers could succumb to the temptation of hexing Dean into the Hospital Wing for being so callous. She was entirely on Ginny's side in this argument. In the safe privacy of her curtained bed, she forced her breathing to slow until her hands unclenched. Perhaps this was even a good thing. Maybe Ginny would confront her feelings for Harry and drop Dean for good.

Harry and Ron were being released together the next morning so she ran up before breakfast to escort them down. The three of them together again; it would have been almost like old times except that the sole topic of conversation seemed to be Ginny's boyfriend. Harry was obviously as smitten as Ginny could wish and Ron as oblivious. In other words, that looked to be going splendidly. It was a pity Dean had managed to apologise himself into being forgiven.

Few people were about so early. They passed a shy little first year carrying heavy brass scales, which she dropped at sight of them, Luna with a green Allium bulb and an appointment scroll for Harry from Professor Dumbledore and, at the foot of the marble staircase, Lavender Brown tapping angry fingers against her thigh. Harry and Hermione exchanged quick glances and, by common consent, scurried past her without speaking, leaving Ron to face his angry girlfriend alone.

So they were fighting too! All to the good – not that she was breaking her bargain or anything. She'd promised to let Ron love whom he wanted to love, but if he'd stopped loving, then she certainly wasn't required to regret it. Her mouth curved in a smile, which she instantly suppressed every time she noticed it.

In another nod to old times, she "looked over" Harry's Herbology essay that evening while he went to see the headmaster. Of course, that was code for fix it and finish it and naturally that meant Ron would copy it next morning before class, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to push the issue tonight. They did really need to learn to do their own homework all by themselves, but she didn't want to ruin the moment by nagging.

It was hard not to say "I told you so" next morning, when Harry admitted that Professor Dumbledore had told him off for not having tried harder to obtain Slughorn's memory. Pity the scolding hadn't included helpful advice. Harry was still as clueless as ever and, truthfully, so was she. She'd been racking her brains all term without success. Presumably it had something to do with the Potions master's fond memories of Harry's mum, but turning that mild affection into a self-sacrificing willingness to reveal information against himself sounded about as easy as persuading Lucius Malfoy to man a "Kiss the Muggles" booth at a fun fair.

Harry's other news diverted her thoughts. Voldemort's first job after finishing school had been in Borgin and Burkes, ending when he apparently killed an old lady, Hepzibah Smith, for two of the Founders' treasures? Smith? Any relation to that prat, Zacharias? Probably not, it was a very common name, but maybe, just maybe … And ten years later Voldemort applied, for the second time, to teach Defence Against Dark Arts at Hogwarts? And it really was true about the position being cursed? No wonder Dumbledore had always refused it to Snape till this year.

_Till this year! _Had they known that long ago that "the terrible thing" was coming? (She couldn't help thinking of it in quotation marks like that since she didn't know what it might be.) Something that would prevent him coming back next year; something that would destroy his reputation and embitter his life; something that she would find "the greatest betrayal" – but what was it?

She asked him again that night, when she reconfirmed theirarrangements. He still wouldn't tell her.

"You'll find out soon enough and then you'll wish you hadn't," he told her. "Be glad that when you look back you won't bear the burden of knowing you could have stopped me - and given the enemy the victory."

"I would never -"

"Yes, you would. Forewarned would be forsworn. You couldn't have helped yourself."

**A/N Since Luna's Gurdyroot looked like a green onion to Harry, I've taken the liberty of classifying it in Genus Allium, which contains onions and other such bulbs. **


	11. Expertise Disregarded

EXPERTISE DISREGARDED

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. Acknowledgements to Caeria, who has used a similar house-elf idea in "Pet Project", which may have subconsciously inspired me though I wrote this in good faith. (Thanks to Hebi R. for pointing that out.)**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione had never expected that one day she'd be sitting in the common room on a Sunday evening compiling a mental list of "Ways in which Professor Snape resembles a house-elf" (Item one, his life is not his own. Item two, when he says "my master", he doesn't mean "the one who taught me Potions". Item three, his work isn't meant to be noticed…)

If Ron and Harry knew what she was thinking about! She closed her mental notebook with a snap – funny how her internal environment was still stubbornly Muggle after 6 years of immersion in wizardry, with spiral notebooks and pens instead of parchment and quills – and turned to see what they were up to. Ron had given up moaning with Dean and Seamus about the Apparition test coming too soon – there'd be practice sessions every weekend though - and was struggling through his essay on Dementors while they huddled in a far corner over their own work. Harry was scouring that blasted Potions cheat book again and everyone else had gone to bed.

"You won't find anything in there," she told Harry. As if a student from fifty years ago could explain how to persuade a professor he (or, more likely, she) had probably never met, to incriminate himself over critical information he'd given a developing Dark Lord!

Unless – She toyed for a moment with the question of whether it could be Slughorn's own student text. No! Ridiculous! If it was his, firstly he'd have recognised it at the outset, when he handed it over in their first lesson, and secondly, he'd surely have published his improvements in the meantime, if only for the money and professional acclaim. Instead they were still struggling through Libatius Borage's error-filled excrescence. _Advanced Potions Making?_ More like potions-bungling!

"Don't start, Hermione. If it hadn't been for the Prince, Ron wouldn't be sitting here now," Harry said.

"He would if you'd just listened to Snape in our very first year." _Our very first lesson!_

For the first time, she wondered if there had been any significance to the fact that all three of his questions that long-ago day had involved poisons – well, almost. The Draught of Living Death wouldn't actually kill you, but it mimicked death so well you might end up buried alive.

But Harry never would listen to Snape. (Item five, his expertise is disregarded, right after item four, he gets no thanks, only blame.) Not even now that he was teaching them a subject Harry actually cared about. A subject that Harry would definitely need, if he were going to fight a Dark Lord to the death in the probably-near future.

Then again, when did Harry ever listen to anyone? He certainly wasn't listening to her. If there were a way of using magic to get Slughorn speaking, wouldn't Dumbledore already have used it? Unless it was illegal, like _Imperio_, of course. And that left only one logical conclusion.

"Only you can get the memory, Dumbledore says. That means you can persuade Slughorn where other people can't." Presumably that meant either because Slughorn used to be fond of Harry's mum or something to do with the "Power the Dark Lord knows not" - whatever that was.

Ron's hand slowed, then stopped. He stared at his parchment, shaking his quill so hard his friends turned to look at him.

"How do you spell 'belligerent'?" he asked. "It can't be B-U-M -"

"No, it isn't." Hermione pulled his essay closer to have a look. It was so full of errors she could barely make sense of it. What on earth? Maybe someone had hexed his quill?

"It's one of Fred and George's Spell-Checking ones … but I think the charm must be wearing off…" he said.

Fred and George's Spell-Checking quills? Oh, how typical! She stared at the essay in horrified fascination. _"How to Deal with Dugbogs" by Roonil Wazlib. _Had all of Ron's schoolwork for the last however many months been written with this quill? She wondered if the spelling had changed after he'd written it, in which case all his notes might be useless, or whether he'd somehow managed to write his own name and half his essay wrong without even noticing.

Those two! She'd have to have a word with them next time she saw them, not that they'd listen, any more than Harry did. Less, in fact, but she hadn't forgotten the trick of getting their attention. Mrs Weasley wouldn't be very impressed if Ron failed because he didn't have any readable notes to study from.

Luckily, she knew how to fix this. All she had to do was tap each mistake with her wand and think _Reparo_. Ron sank back in his chair, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes, and said something that left her breathless.

"I love you, Hermione."

How long had she been waiting to hear him say that? For a moment, she let herself luxuriate in the longed-for words, but he didn't mean it the way she wanted it, not really. Anyhow, he was someone else's boyfriend now. She knew what she had to say.

"Better not let Lavender hear you saying that."

"I won't." Ron's face was still hidden. "Or maybe I will … then she'll ditch me…"

Hermione's breath caught again. Did he want Lavender to ditch him? And if he did, what did that mean? Was it prompted by anything more promising than boredom and the realisation that he and Lavender had nothing in common except hormones (as Snape had put it), or had that earlier comment been more than mere pleasantry? If she'd ever thought she didn't mind whom Ron loved, the thudding of her suddenly hopeful heart disillusioned her.

She said nothing and went on painstakingly identifying and correcting errors as the boys started rambling about break-ups. If they knew how desperately she was listening to their conversation, they'd change the subject and she wanted to hear this.

"The more I hint I want to finish it, the tighter she holds on," Ron grumbled. "It's like going out with the Giant Squid."

Hermione smiled inwardly. So that answered that. Yes to her first question and as for the second – She could wait. Lavender might cling like velcro, but sooner or later she'd have to get the message and give up. She wasn't the sort to try to trick Ron into an engagement. She might be silly and shallow, but she'd never been sneaky.

It took twenty long, tedious minutes to correct all the spelling mistakes in the essay, by which time she'd begun a new mental list, "Hexes the Weasley twins deserve". If she had to do that to the rest of his notes, the twins might find themselves transfigured to something really nasty, like a toilet brush set.

By the time she at last handed the parchment back to Ron, first Dean, then Seamus, had gone to bed. Harry finally closed the Potions book with a sigh and Hermione kept her "I told you so" to herself and picked up the book she'd been pretending to read before.

There was something she'd been trying not to think about, something she'd been using her silly lists as a distraction from; what was "the terrible thing" Professor Snape refused to talk about, the unwanted task that he was going to be forced to perform?

So many possibilities, each worse than the other! Freeing the Death Eaters from Azkaban, going on Muggle raids – but if he hadn't had to do any of that until now, why would that have changed? Why would Voldemort risk losing his Order spy for jobs any Death Eater could do?

So it must be something that only he could do. Something involving Hogwarts, like letting Death Eaters into the school. Only, he'd said that it was nothing to do with her friends, that they'd be protected. So either it was aimed at specific students, say first year Hufflepuffs or seventh year Divination students or something, or it wasn't going to happen till after they caught the train home.

She jumped at a sudden _Crack_! It startled Ron into knocking ink all over his freshly corrected essay. Kreacher? What was he doing here?

"Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing -"

_Crack! _

Dobby was suddenly beside the other elf, scowling resentfully at him.

"Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!"

Hermione stared at them. What was going on, she wondered? What had Harry done now? A brief guilty silence followed her question.

"Well … they've been following Malfoy for me," Harry said weakly.

She would never understand boys, never! Harry couldn't stand the sight of Kreacher! He blamed him for helping to get Sirius killed last year. She'd have thought him more likely to punch Kreacher than to employ him. It just showed how obsessed Harry was with Malfoy. If she didn't know it was Ginny that Harry wanted, she'd be thinking some rather disturbing thoughts right now. Urgh, Harry and ferret-face! She gave her mind a scrub with an imaginary piece of steel wool.

And what? The poor things had stayed up all night for a week to do it? She glared at Harry. Had he told them not to sleep?

"No, of course I didn't," Harry disclaimed hastily.

If Hermione hadn't been so angry, she might have laughed at the contrast between the two house-elves. One saying "Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood"; the other calling him "a bad boy", then having to be restrained from diving into the fire. (Ways Snape resembles a house-elf, item six, he daren't speak against his master – except to his other one. Item seven, he's always punishing himself.)

"Kreacher should know that Draco Malfoy is not a good master to a house-elf!" Dobby added.

Oh, she could believe that all right. How could he be? Snot-nosed pasty-faced ferrety little copy of not-so-dear-old-dad! He'd be about as good a master to a house-elf as – as Voldemort must be to Snape. She bit her lip. (Item eight, his master – one of them anyway - is merciless and cruel.)

Dobby was talking again. Hang on, what was that? Regular visits to the seventh floor? A variety of students who keep watch while Malfoy enters?

"The Room of Requirement!" Harry exclaimed, smacking his book on his forehead.

That was where Malfoy kept sneaking off to and that was why Harry couldn't find him on the Marauder's Map. It all made sense now. That must be part of the magic of the Room of Requirement. If you needed it to be unplottable, it would be. The only reason Malfoy had been able to find it when they used it last year was that stupid Marietta had blabbed that it was DA Headquarters. Unfortunately, that meant they weren't much further forward than before. They knew where ferret-face went, but they couldn't follow him in or see what he was doing there.

"You don't know what the Room becomes when Malfoy goes in there, so you don't know what to ask it to transform into," she pointed out since Harry didn't seem to understand and was excitedly making plans. He dismissed that, as he always did when her conclusions were unwelcome.

"There'll be a way around that," he said, congratulating Dobby.

"Kreacher's done well, too," Hermione added automatically. All right, yes, he was a horrid, prejudiced old thing who'd betrayed Sirius to his death and loved the Malfoys, but he was a slave so you could hardly blame him. (Snape's a slave. You can't blame him either. What did that make, item nine? And item ten, he doesn't want to be freed. He's been a slave too long to know any other way. Or is it just that he doesn't believe he can be?)

As usual, Kreacher wasn't grateful. He stared at the ceiling and muttered darkly about Mudbloods. Harry ordered him away, then more gently sent Dobby off to get some sleep.

Ron was glumly but ineffectually mopping at his ink-soaked essay. Hermione pulled it to herself for another rescue operation, this time using her wand as a siphon. Surprisingly, it was Harry who solved the next question.

"There aren't a whole variety of students standing guard for Malfoy," he said, jumping up and starting to pace. "It's just Crabbe and Goyle as usual." Malfoy must have stolen some Polyjuice Potion in their first lesson. So that little girl they'd met on the way down from the Infirmary, the one who'd dropped her scales and Hermione had mended them –

"Of course!" Harry added. "Malfoy must have been inside the Room at the time, so she – what am I talking about? – _he_ dropped the scales to tell Malfoy not to come out, because there was someone there." He remembered another "little girl" on another occasion, who'd dropped toad-spawn as they passed. "We've been walking past him all the time and not realising it."

So Crabbe and Goyle were Polyjuicing themselves into girls? That didn't sound very smart, considering the possible long-term side-effects of cross-gender transmutation.Well, this was Crabbe and Goyle. They weren't known for their brains..

Hermione rolled up Ron's essay and gave it back to him before it could come to any more harm. This was all very well, but Harry was still on the wrong track. What he was supposed to be concentrating on was getting that memory from Slughorn. She told him so and the next morning at breakfast, she told him again.

The news in _The Prophet_ was worse. Mundungus arrested for impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary – served him right, the sneak-thief, but he was still an Order member and it would be disastrous if he was interrogated under Veritaserum – Octavius Pepper vanished and oh, how horrible! A nine-year-old arrested after having killed his grandmother while under _Imperio_.

It was Ancient Runes first, without the boys, then Defence. Harry was late again. Snape took ten points off immediately and Hermione managed not to nod in agreement. That was fair enough and besides, where had Harry been? Her heart sank at the suspicion that he was still wasting his time on Malfoy.

Everyone – except maybe Harry and Ron – could tell that Snape liked teaching Defence much more than Potions. Even Neville breathed easy and today Seamus actually interrupted him with a question. Catch anyone doing that before this year!

"Sir, I've been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the _Prophet_ about an Inferius -"

Snape corrected him without even taking points.

" - Nothing but a smelly sneak-thief by the name of Mundungus Fletcher."

"I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side," Harry muttered. "Shouldn't he be upset –"

Hermione set her teeth. _Oh, really_, she thought. _Didn't stop you from trying to strangle him last time we saw him_! Why did Harry always have to start? He knew Snape wouldn't let students chatter in his lesson, especially when he was talking himself. Naturally, Snape pounced.

"Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject. Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost," he said.

Hermione sank down in her chair. Harry had asked for that. Anyone who disrupted lessons by talking when Snape did was asking for that. Then she sank even lower at Harry's abysmally stupid answer. Most of the Slytherins were smirking.

Ghosts were transparent? That was the best he could do? He could at least have said "insubstantial", as in "also able to pass through solid objects or float through the air". Not to mention that ghosts can talk and see and make decisions while Inferi are just corpses that move around by their master's command. And since no one but a Dark Wizard would raise an Inferi, they were always, and by definition, "out to get you".

Yes, ghosts were transparent and Inferi weren't. That was like saying the difference between tigers and zebras was the colour of their stripes or the difference between horses and thestrals was that thestrals were invisible - never mind the fangs and bat-wings and attraction to human blood! Honestly! The only thing alike about ghosts and Inferi was that both were dead!

Naturally again, Snape had to rub it in. An Inferius was a re-animated corpse while a ghost was a departed soul's imprint...

"And, of course, as Potter so wisely tells us," the teacher sneered, "_transparent_." And still he hadn't taken any more points!

And naturally, Ron had to make it worse by arguing. As if there was any chance of mixing up ghosts with Inferi, no matter how dark the alley! Ten points and a put-down, she really couldn't blame Snape for handing those out, but why did he have to use just what would hurt the most?

"Ron Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room."

She flinched, but collected herself enough to grab Harry's arm before he could land himself back in detention. Snape returned with a triumphant smirk to his original subject, the Cruciatus Curse, page two hundred and thirteen in their textbooks.

"I know they asked for it," she told him the next night in their session, "but did you have to be so cruel?"

"Do you have to try to shield everyone around you from the consequences of their actions?" he replied coldly. "Do you think you're helping anyone by doing so?"

(Last two items, eleven and twelve, he doesn't like me and he doesn't want my help.)

If she looked at him, she'd cry. So she didn't.

**A/N 1) Some lines of dialogue are taken from HBP, Ch 21, The Unknowable Room.**

**2) Most dates come from the Harry Potter Lexicon, but it dates the posting of the Apparition Test notice at Mar 16 and the actual test at April 21, five weeks later. However, according to the chapter, the day after the notice goes up is the Defence class described above, followed immediately by Moaning Myrtle's tale of a crying boy. The chapter then continues, ****"And so the following weekend, Ron joined the rest of the sixth-years who would turn seventeen in time to take the test in two weeks…" It seems, therefore, that the canon time period is only three weeks, not five.**

**3) I feel I need to explain Hermione's reaction in the Defence class. There are two questions, "Why does Hermione think Harry asked for Snape's ridicule?" and "Why does Hermione think Harry's answer is stupid?"**

**a) Harry's behaviour (talking over the teacher) implied that Harry thought he knew better than him on the subject under discussion. Therefore it was for Harry to show that he knew the answer, even though they hadn't learnt it in class.**

**b) How do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Easily. One is a body, the other is a spirit _and they look like what they are,_ ie too different to misidentify. At first glance, you might mistake an Inferius for a person (that's why Mundungus tried to impersonate one) or a corpse or a Vampire but you would not mistake it for a ghost. **

**To a wizard, "Ghosts are transparent" is as obvious as "Tigers and zebras have different colour stripes" - and as peripheral to defining differences. The only similarity between Inferi and ghosts is that both are dead humans. The only visual similarity is that both are human-sized and human-shaped. ****The human eye and brain take in an enormous amount of other information in an instant, for example, surface appearance (colour, luminosity, pattern), substantiality (transparency, solidity, weightiness), position (stance, location), movement (speed, direction, type), danger/threat (difficult to quantify). Ghosts and Inferi differ in almost all of these characteristics.**

**When two creatures are more different than they are alike, picking out one ****visual difference from a plethora of far more essential differences is not useful. In any case, since the subtext to Seamus's question is "How can I recognise an Inferi instantly?" Harry's answer needs to focus on what's distinctive about Inferi, not what's distinctive about ghosts. **


	12. Careful What You Wish

CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione grinned at her buttery mashed potato and took another bite. It had been a good day so far. Clear bright weather, Ron by her side and no Lavender or Parvati in the group to watch and scowl. They were too young to be taking the test this time around, so she'd had a whole glorious morning without them.

The practice session had gone brilliantly. She'd Apparated perfectly every time, according to Mr Twycross, and for the first time Ron had managed to do it too, though only once and landing several feet further than he was aiming for. He'd need to put more concentration into Destination and maybe Deliberation too if he was to master it in the two weeks before the test.

"Hah, that'll show Snape!" he'd said jubilantly. "I'll show him 'too solid to Apparate half an inch'!"

Afterwards, they'd all stopped in at the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. That had been fun too, except for spending half an hour trying to jolly Ron out of a sulk when Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at his joke. The hag, the healer and the_ Mimbulus mimbletonia_! That was so old, it was almost a shaggy Crup story!

She wondered where Harry was and whether he'd spent the entire time hanging around the Room of Requirement or had given up and followed her advice. Did he really want another telling-off from Dumbledore about not trying hard enough to get Slughorn's memory?

Apparently, he did. And he'd achieved exactly what she'd expected – nothing! – though he did have a rather odd story about having met Tonks in the corridor when she was supposed to be outside, guarding the school. Hermione's breath caught. Had something roused the Auror's suspicions about Snape and the "terrible thing"? She wouldn't arrest him without Dumbledore's permission, would she, not when they were both in the Order?

It did sound like that might be why she was there; "Thought he might know what's going on … heard rumours … people getting hurt … _Prophet_'s often behind the times…"

Could he have done it already? She risked a quick glance around the room. He wasn't here, but the teachers who were looked so placid, surely – Oh, there he was, striding in with his usual glare.

Her hand unclenched around her fork as she turned her attention back to her friends. Harry had a theory that maybe Tonks had been in love with Sirius. She tried to remember if she'd seen any signs of that a year ago, when she'd ditched mum and dad's skiing holiday and joined the others at Grimmauld Place, but she didn't think she'd ever noticed them together. Not that that meant anything; she'd been too worried about Harry to look at what the grown-ups were doing.

"How will I know when you do – whatever it is you're going to do?" she asked Snape two nights later, at the end of a particularly gruelling session. She'd need to know immediately because – well, just because.

He gave her a heavy-browed glance, half over his shoulder, as he returned to his desk to start again on his endless marking.

"You'll know."

She stood in the middle of the floor, still panting slightly.

"But how? Is it going to be here at Hogwarts or will I know because you don't turn up to lessons?"

"You'll know," he repeated. "That's all you need to know."

'If you call that knowing!' she grumbled to herself. 'All I need to know is that I don't need to know.'

She tried again.

"Will you send me a message? How will I know it's you?"

"A Patronus message is safe from forgery," he said.

"I've never even seen your Patronus."

"That is immaterial. It carries my essence; you'll recognise it even if it changes." He pointed his wand to her left, nevertheless, and out rushed a silver wisp like a sleeping question mark that shuddered and twisted instantly into a scorpion half the size of Crookshanks.

Hermione gave a little scream and jumped away, one hand over her mouth. She should have expected this shape, she'd even toyed with the comparison once, but still it was a shock. Her professor smirked.

"Be careful what you wish for. It won't hurt you - which is more than I could say for myself."

Her eyes jerked to his, then slid back to the closer scary creature.

"Your plans involve hurting me?" She didn't believe him.

"Not any differently than I have in the past."

Her memories of all the times he'd made her cry were interrupted when the silver scorpion flicked its tail – 'not just a tail, a stinger,' she thought nervously – and scuttled closer. She backed away from its slender pincers till she could go no further.

"Is this your Gryffindor courage?" he mocked. "It's quite safe unless you're a Dementor in disguise. Hold out your arm."

"Gryffindor courage doesn't mean stupidity," she protested, but she held out her arm, wincing as eight hairy legs tickled their way along her trembling forearm. He was right. She felt its voice in her head with a sense other than hearing, just as she'd felt its movement with a sense other than touch. It was sour and sharp and proud and bitter, just like him.

_And yet you're holding a scorpion._

And then it was gone.

Two weeks went fast. Ron was avoiding Lavender with as much determination as Professor Slughorn was putting into avoiding Harry, and he was studying Apparition with as much energy as Harry was putting into chasing Malfoy around. Unfortunately, because of the school's anti-Apparition wards he could only practise during the Hogsmeade sessions, but he had improved so much that Hermione had real hopes for his success.

The test was on a Monday afternoon. A scroll was delivered to Harry that day at lunchtime, but it wasn't from Dumbledore. It was from Hagrid and he'd obviously been crying. Aragog was dead.

Hermione pushed away the tendrils of guilt uncurling in her head. They really couldn't go to the funeral, no matter how much Hagrid wanted them, and it wasn't fair of him to ask. He was a teacher! He shouldn't be encouraging them to break curfew and go out at night when times were so dangerous, not when there wasn't anything they could do to change things. If it had been a question of saving the Acromantula –

Ron shook his head at her.

"I'd want to go even less," he said firmly. "You didn't meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a great deal."

Well, of course Ron would say that. He was scared of even quite tiny spiders, let alone something Harry had described as being the size of a small elephant. She was relieved to see that Harry agreed they couldn't go. Hagrid would have to bury his carnivorous friend without them.

On the bright side, Potions class would be almost empty that afternoon, which meant Harry would have Slughorn almost to himself. The teacher wouldn't walk out of a lesson, so maybe he'd get a chance to soften him up a bit.

"Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?" He sounded bitter.

Then Ron had one of his occasional strokes of brilliance.

"Use your lucky potion!" he said.

Somehow, those always took her by surprise. You'd think by now she'd remember that Ron could do that, cut right through the fat to the heart of a problem. If he ever focused his brain on anything other than Quidditch or chess he'd be unbeatable.

Strangely enough, Harry didn't seem too keen. He said he'd been saving it. Didn't he understand?

"What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?" she asked.

He didn't seem to have an answer, at any rate not one he was willing to share, as he stared into the distance with a dreamy look on his face. She asked again and this time he reluctantly agreed. Good! That was settled, then. Now she could turn her mind to more personal concerns.

She stood up and rehearsed her Apparition, then Ron dived behind her, as he'd taken to doing every time a girl approached.

"It isn't Lavender," she told him, as she did every time. It was the Montgomery sisters, looking quite miserable. Their little brother had died of a werewolf bite. St Mungo's hadn't been able to save him. That horrible Fenrir Greyback, the one who'd bitten Lupin!

"Harry, you've got to get that memory," she said. "It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him."

It was a pity that Ron didn't quite pass the test. He almost did. They'd thought for a moment that it was all right, but the examiner had stared hard at the place Ron had jumped from, then walked over and pulled a small furry ginger caterpillar-thing out of the air. Half Ron's eyebrow. Oh dear! It took most of the fun out of her own success.

They spent the rest of the day trying to cheer Ron up by abusing the finicky examiner. She was as soothing and sympathetic as she could be and tactfully didn't point out that the examiner had a point. Apparition was dangerous. If you could Splinch half an eyebrow, you could Splinch half a head – and that was a prospect altogether too dangerous to take lightly.

At last it was time. The sun had just reached the treetops in the Forbidden Forest when they sneaked up to the boy's dormitory for Harry to take his Felix Felicis. He only needed a mouthful to become awfully cocky.

"Right – I'm going to Hagrid's."

What? But they'd agreed not to. It was too dangerous, it was –

"I've got a good feeling about going to Hagrid's," Harry said, swaggering a little as he pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. "I feel like it's the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?"

They didn't. He ignored their protests with a laugh, swinging the cloak over his shoulders.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing – or at least – Felix does." And with that he disappeared under his hood and was gone.

Ron and Hermione followed him to the common room without thinking twice. And Lavender shrieked.

_Oh, no. _

"What were you doing up there with _her_?" Lavender wanted to know.

They didn't have an answer. It had all been perfectly innocent, of course. Harry had been with them all the time, but they could hardly tell her that. No one else even knew Harry had an Invisibility Cloak and it wasn't the sort of secret you wanted to share, especially in these dangerous days. One day, having that cloak might save Harry's life – but only if no one knew to check for it.

Ron was spluttering.

"Nothing. We weren't doing anything. We just –"

"Not doing anything, my foot!" Lavender's voice was getting shriller. "You two, sneaking off by yourselves to a bedroom and you tell me you're not doing anything?"

Three first years left the room in a hurry. While it might be interesting to watch their elders fighting, there were some sounds that just hurt your ears. Over by the door, another quarrel was beginning.

"Don't push, please, Dean." Ginny snapped. "You're always doing that. I can get through perfectly well on my own."

"Jeesh, what's with you?" Dean answered hotly. "I didn't touch you! I wasn't anywhere near you!"

"Liar! It must have been you, no one else was within two feet of me!"

All around the room, people began shuffling together books and papers, folding away game-boards and picking up their cards. McLaggen was one of the exceptions. Sprawled across a deep chair, he thumped his leg and let out a loud bray of a laugh.

Hermione bit her lip, as she stared from one red-faced Weasley to another. 'Oh Harry,' she thought. 'Look what you did.'

Ron was shouting now, his chin jutting out and his eyes hard.

"I've been trying to tell you for a month to naff off and leave me alone! You're worse than the bl – ruddy giant squid, you are!"

Hermione winced. At least he'd changed that swearword at the last minute. This was ugly enough without that. At the other end of the room, Ginny was yelling.

"I'm sick of you treating me like a doll that you think's gonna break if you don't keep me in a box for show! I can do anything you can do – and I can do it better. You wouldn't even be on the ruddy team if you weren't my boyfriend."

McLaggen brayed his laughter. Hermione hastily suppressed an urge to hex his lips sewn shut with red cotton.

"You see here, Ginny Weasley –" That was Dean.

"Ron Weasley, you pig-headed insensitive oaf!" Tears were running down Lavender's cheeks as she jabbed a finger at her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend. "You've been stringing me along for months. You're a spot-faced, wet-lipped, ugly -"

"I do not have wet lips!" Ron protested.

"- lying, cheating, weaselly –"

"Oi!" But Lavender was on a roll.

"- heartless, brainless, gutless -" she continued.

"Think you're so great!" Dean was sneering in tandem. "Think I don't know who you've really been fancying all this time –"

"- greedy, gobbling, gabbling, grasping –"

"Oooh, let's save the game for Harry." Dean's voice was a high thin treble in savage parody of Ginny's. "Let's run after the Boy-Who-Lived and lick his footsteps off the floor and –Ow! Aargh! Ouch!"

Whatever he'd been saying was lost in moans and grunts. Ginny looked with satisfaction at the bat-bogeys swarming over his face andtossed her head, bright hair catching the light as it swung.

"We're through," she said, in tones of utmost disgust. "Don't bash your fat head against the door on your way out."

She left the room not much quieter for her absence. Dean, having dropped his wand, was still clutching at his face with both hands, Lavender was still listing all Ron's faults and Ron was sneering back.

"Stupid gold chain, ugliest thing I ever saw in my life –"

Hermione decided to follow Ginny's example. If she went to bed right now, maybe Lavender and Parvati would think she was asleep when they came to bed and leave her alone for the night. She'd thought she wanted Ron and Lavender to break up. She did want them to break up. But not like this.

The next morning, at least the common room was quiet. Most people in Gryffindor got up late and everyone looked rather shell-shocked. Everyone except Harry. Hermione didn't get a chance to ask him about his night until the Charms lesson, but she knew it must have gone well.

He cast _Muffliato_, one of the Prince's spells, and began. It was enthralling listening. He'd softened up Slughorn with the chance to harvest Aragog's venom (_A hundred Galleons a pint? No wonder Slughorn was keen!)_, then he'd watched the two adults drink, using the Refilling Charm to keep their glasses topped up, and, after Slughorn drank Hagrid under the table (_Goodness, what a capacity he must have to outdrink a half-giant!), _he'd wheedled the information out of him.

"You are brilliant!" Ron said.

"That goes for me too," Hermione agreed.

But that wasn't all. After that, he'd gone to show Dumbledore the memory -

"At _what_ time in the night?" Hermione squeaked.

"As if he'd care for that!" Ron said. "He didn't, did he?"

"Course not! He couldn't wait to look."

"And?" Hermione leaned forward.

"We saw what he really told Riddle that night. See, you split part of your soul off by killing someone, and then you store it in an object – that's the Horcrux – and then you can't die. Not even if they destroy your body, you're still alive – sort of alive – Slughorn told him that death would be preferable, but he didn't care -"

Ron's jaw dropped and Hermione's eyes were almost popping.

"Voldemort made a Horcrux?" she breathed. "So that's how he survived all this time!"

"Not one," Harry said. "Seven."

"Seven?" she gasped.

"Seven, counting himself. And we've already destroyed two."

Ron's brow wrinkled and his lower lip stuck out.

"We have?"

"His diary – the one Ginny had – and Slytherin's ring. Dumbledore did that one. He said he almost died destroying that one – there was a curse, that's what happened to his hand – and when he got back here, Snape" – his face twisted in disbelief – "Snape saved him. At least, that's what he said."

Hermione's lips parted. Professor Snape? Not Madam Pomfrey? So he was a Healer as well as a Potions master and Dark Arts expert? She'd never have guessed that. He'd never healed anyone in class, he always sent them to the Infirmary. If only she'd get a chance to watch him heal some day – or at least talk to someone who did.

Absent-mindedly, she waved her wand at her glass of vinegar, turning it into deep crimson wine. It smelt gloriously of dark berry and chocolate and something more. She sent a tendril of query along the fast-fading magical connection. You could always identify something you'd charmed, if you asked it soon enough – well, she could, anyhow. None of her friends seemed to know how. Mmm, 1991 Penfolds Grange, the very wine that her dad's Australian cousin had sent the year she started Hogwarts. Dad was saving it for her graduation.

"Dumbledore said one of the other four was probably Slytherin's locket and one Hufflepuff's cup," Harry explained. "And we don't know the other two, but one's probably Nagini and the other something that used to belong to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

"Nagini? You can use animals as Horcruxes? Weird!" said Ron.

"And you won't believe this!" Harry said triumphantly. "He's actually going to take me with him when he destroys the next one!"

Hermione and Ron glanced wide-eyed at each other and then at him.

"You're kidding!" Ron was shaking his head in awe.

"He's taking you?" Hermione asked. "It's so dangerous. He almost died last time."

She couldn't help thinking Professor Snape might be a better choice, in case something went wrong again. Unless he didn't know about the Horcruxes, but then how had he healed the headmaster if he didn't know how he got hurt? Dumbledore couldn't be taking both of them; if it was possible for them to work together she wouldn't have had to spend the last four months practising to be a buffer between them.

Harry smiled widely.

"He says I've earned it."

Despite herself, her eyes softened.

"Oh Harry, of course you have."

**A/N 1) Snatches of dialogue are from HBP, ch 21, The Unknowable Room, and ch 22, After the Burial. Canon doesn't specify whether Lavender and Parvati were old enough for the Apparition test. I chose to assume they weren't since canon doesn't mention their presence. Identifying one's charmed objects is also not in canon.**

**2) Why did I choose a scorpion for Snape's Patronus? I liked the idea of something that can protect its own back. (I also considered porcupine since his words are sharp as quills.) The inspiration was a scene near the end of Barry Hughart's "Bridge of Birds". The peasant narrator is holding the villain from behind while the latter tries to dislodge him by turning into all sorts of useless scary creatures. Meanwhile the peasant is mentally running through all the things he hopes the other guy won't think of becoming, for example scorpions.**

**Milady Darkan has drawn a picture of the Patronus scene which can be found at** ** strigoaika. deviantart. com/art/Holding-a-Scorpion-30389732 (don't forget the http colon double-slash at the beginning and remove the spaces)**

**3) I'm not a wine connoisseur (in fact I don't drink alcohol at all), but when I found that googling "deep crimson wine" led me to a true Australian classic, Penfolds Grange Hermitage Magnum, rated a maximum 100 points by Langtons, I couldn't resist advertising my country. Apparently that was an exceptional year. (Sorry, don't know where – or if - you can buy it. The site priced it at A$1,650 a bottle, but it was sold out.)**


	13. Bleeding From Everywhere

BLEEDING FROM EVERYWHERE

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

Hermione was washing her hands in the bathroom nearest the library when Moaning Myrtle popped up through the drain hole in the sink next to her.

The last two weeks had been so dreary. Her roommates still weren't talking to her, except to make nasty comments about Know-it-all sneaks who stole other people's boyfriends. Ron got offended every time she went anywhere without him, but he still hadn't said anything about getting together. Dean spent all his time muttering darkly in corners with Seamus about his ousting from Ginny's affections and from the team (by Katie Bell's return) alike. Ginny was determinedly ignoring Dean and pretending not to notice Harry pretending not to notice her. So they weren't talking either - except about Quidditch.

All anyone in Gryffindor was talking about was their upcoming match with Ravenclaw: what score they needed to snatch the Cup, or to grab a respectable second place or, at worst, to avoid abject defeat. Every so often, she'd get completely desperate and have to make up a get-away excuse. Today, when Ron had rushed off to throw up from nerves again and Harry had tried to switch his Quidditch-talk to her, she'd told him she needed to consult Professor Vector on her Arithmancy homework, then nipped off to the library instead for a blessed respite. But sorting through old newspapers left her hands inky and it was almost time for dinner.

Myrtle snickered.

"You'll never guess! You'll never guess!" the ghost chanted. "Harry Potter's in big trouble!"

"What? Why? What's happened?"

Moaning Myrtle shot up to the ceiling, turned a somersault and did a swan-dive into Hermione's sink. Hermione jumped back hastily. There was a gurgling sound from the pipes, then the ghost's head popped up right in front of her.

"Ooh, wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, I would, please Myrtle. Harry's my friend."

"He told me he might come back and talk to me, but he never did," sniffed the ghost, shaking her head and setting her pigtails flying. She came out and perched above the tap. "He never did. He never did. Naughty Harry Potter. But I don't care. I've had that nice blond boy to talk to this year. The one Harry Potter –" she put her hands on her hips and her chin up "– tried to murder."

"Harry wouldn't try to murder anyone!'

"He did more than just try! He came in and they started to fight and then Harry Potter," she spat the name and continued self-righteously, "shouted some spell I've never heard and my poor blond boy started bleeding from everywhere."

Hermione recoiled, gasping, "No! He couldn't have!"

"He did, then! And for a moment I thought I'd have a nice blond sweetheart to keep me company forever and ever – he's ever so handsome when he's not pouring blood everywhere – and I was glad. But then –" She stuck out her lower lip in a discontented pout and flew once around the room.

"Then what?"

"Professor Snape came and healed him and took him away." Back down the drainpipe went Myrtle, her voice echoing faintly from the distance, "Ooh, Harry Potter's in big, big trouble."

Hermione rushed out of the bathroom with wet hands, then paused in the hallway wondering where to find her friend. If Professor Snape was the one who caught him – the blond boy must have been Malfoy - was Harry going to be expelled? Only they couldn't, could they? Not when he was the only one – Oh, she'd told him to forget about Malfoy, she'd told him!

She took a deep breath. He wouldn't have gone down to dinner. He'd either be up in Gryffindor Tower or in a teacher's office probably. It didn't sound like he'd got hurt himself, so not the Infirmary. Besides, she didn't want to bump into –

Hurrying around a corner, she almost slammed into the very person she was trying to avoid, but strong hands held her off for just long enough to steady her before they dropped from her arms.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for running through the halls."

She looked up into black eyes and a blacker scowl. Her mouth went dry.

"Sorry, professor. I – I heard –"

"About your friend's murder attempt? Perhaps you had prior knowledge of his foray into Dark magic? Something you borrowed from the Restricted Section?"

She gulped and bit her lip. It was so like him to find a way to blame her, whether he believed his accusations or not, but –

"N-no, sir." _You know everything I've borrowed from the Restricted Section this year._

_Do I? Something you bought in Knockturn Alley then?_

_How did you know – That's not fair, you were fishing!_

_And you're proving to be a very poor student. How will you keep my secrets if you can't even keep your own?_

His eyes narrowed as he continued aloud, "Fortunately for both of you, Draco will survive. He may even be lucky enough to escape permanent injury –"

_Draco? Who cares about Draco-ruddy-Malfoy? What about Harry?_

Thin lips drew back from crooked yellow teeth in a snarl. Hermione quailed. She hadn't meant to think that to him. 'Idiot!' she told herself.

_I didn't – I mean _–_ Sorry, sorry, sorry –_

"Fifty points for an unprovoked attack on a teacher. Next time you'll be serving Saturday detentions with Mr Potter for the rest of the term."

He swept off in billowing rage and Hermione stared after him, her teeth worrying her lip. Only detentions? That was a very mild punishment for almost killing someone, especially _that_ someone. Even if it did mean Harry would miss that blasted Quidditch match he'd been nattering on about. Had McGonagall or Dumbledore overruled Snape again, like in second year?

"That was harsh," said a Hufflepuff bystander sympathetically. "Sixty points just because you were in a bit of a hurry. What's got his knickers in a knot?"

"Just the usual," Hermione said, trying to ignore the hollow, guilty feeling in her chest. She moved off in the direction of the Great Hall, rather more slowly this time. He'd have let her know somehow if Harry was hurt, just like he did when Ron was poisoned. "He's never liked Gryffindors."

But he did like Malfoy. That had been obvious from their very first lesson. And not just a little bit. It must be an awful lot or he wouldn't have put his life on the line and made an Unbreakable Vow to protect him. And Malfoy had told him to break it. The boy he risked his life for didn't care if he died.

But maybe it wasn't about Malfoy at all. His mum would have been at school with Snape, wouldn't she? And Narcissa was very pretty, even if she was as snooty as a female camel. Hermione frowned. She'd always just assumed Snape was the sort of miserable grouch who didn't want friends or family in his life. But maybe she'd had it topsy-turvy. Maybe he was a miserable grouch because he couldn't have them. Because if there ever had been anyone he liked, he'd have been risking their lives to tell them.

She hunched her shoulders and trudged on, a burning ache in her throat. Professor Snape didn't want her sympathy. He'd hate it.

Somehow Snape's "terrible thing" was connected with Malfoy's mysterious "job", she was sure. If she knew one, she could deduce the other. If Harry was right – Harry was never right – then Malfoy was behind Katie's cursing and Ron's poisoning. In which case, he was trying to kill someone. The poisoned mead had been in Slughorn's possession, but it was meant for Dumbledore. That was a mistake Malfoy might have made – he probably didn't know Slughorn well enough to realise it wouldn't get passed on – but even he must know that Slughorn would be the one more likely to find a gift necklace so enticing that he'd forget to check for curses before touching it. Anyone even slightly acquainted with Dumbledore would have known to send cursed lemon drops instead.

It just didn't make sense. More likely Malfoy had had nothing to do with either attempt. All they knew for sure about his plans was that he'd wanted to know how to fix something and there was a similar object in Borgin's shop that he'd told him not to sell. And whatever it was - presumably the thing he was working on in the Room of Requirement – he didn't seem to have fixed it yet.

With a start, she realised she was in the Hall. Might as well eat then, not that she was hungry any more.

"Hermione will know," Neville said to Colin as she sat down. He turned to her. "Everyone's saying that Harry was seen running through the corridors, soaking wet and bleeding. What happened? Is he all right?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there." She scanned the table with disinterest and put a single boiled potato and a spoonful of peas on her plate.

Neville gave her a doubtful look.

"You don't seem very worried."

She sighed and stared at her plate, chopping her potato into little pieces with the side of her fork.

"It wasn't his blood. At least, not according to Moaning Myrtle. He had a fight with Malfoy in her bathroom."

Just then, Pansy erupted into the room.

"It was Potter again!" she called as she reached the Slytherin table. "He's always hexing Draco and this time he tried to kill him!"

Hermione flinched as the Slytherins began to hiss and jeer. On the other hand, why eat when you're not hungry? She pushed her plate away and got up. If she was going to hear all about it, she'd rather hear it straight from Harry – and preferably while she could still muster up enough patience not to blast him.

It seemed she wasn't the only one bursting to blast him. As she approached the common room, McGonagall was winding up what had obviously been a pretty thorough telling-off. Harry was looking damp and pale and small, but at least he was no longer covered in Malfoy's blood.

Ron was already there and Ginny arrived a moment later, just as Harry started to explain. He'd found Malfoy crying and instead of having the tact to leave, he'd stared at him until he turned and saw he was being watched. Of course they immediately got into a duel and he'd used a spell he'd learnt from that Potions book, just in time to stop a _Crucio_.

She'd told him there was something wrong with that Prince person and he shouldn't just trust everything he read! She'd told him! And still he wouldn't listen to her. He was actually planning to go back and fetch the book from the Room of Requirement as soon as Snape stopped watching him; he was actually planning to learn more spells out of it and trust it again.

She tried to make him see what a bad idea this was. If he didn't care about the danger or about almost murdering someone by accident – even if it was someone he despised as much as Malfoy – didn't he care that it had already got him in deep trouble? After he'd been so obsessed with this Quidditch match coming up, didn't he even care that he'd let himself and his team and his house down by following the suggestions in the book?

Of course, Ginny took his side. Hermione had always known her best girlfriend loved Harry even more than Quidditch, but still it made her too angry to say another word. He'd just have to learn the hard way.

The last thing she wanted to do that evening was go to another lesson with Snape. He'd already docked her 60 points today and was probably planning to make it an even 600, knowing him. But it wasn't the points that bothered her. She knew he'd be in an absolutely foul temper and after what she'd mind-said to him earlier she could hardly blame him.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I'm really sorry." Malfoy was a git, but she shouldn't have paraded her dislike to one of the few people in the school who did truly like him. Besides, she didn't really want him hurt – though an eternity with Myrtle did seem a rather appropriate fate.

He didn't look up from his marking.

"Don't indulge your propensity for lying at my expense, Miss Granger. I know you too well to be taken in," he told her.

"I'm not a liar!"

"Aren't you? I've sometimes thought you'd have been sorted into Slytherin if you weren't a Muggle-born."

Chewing on her lip, she stared at the floor. How did he know? She'd even lied to the boys about that once, told them the Hat had considered Ravenclaw. But knowledge for her was a means to an end, not an end in itself.

Shame made her lash out.

"Are you saying that all Slytherins are liars?"

His glower made her sorry she'd provoked him into looking up. His lips thinned, then twisted into a smirk as he thought of a worse punishment than anger. Nothing hurts more than the truth.

"I'm saying that you're cunning and ambitious and you know the value of a well-placed lie at the right time or to the right person. That is to say, to someone you're capable of deceiving. Lying to Professor McGonagall or –"

Her head jerked up.

"I never lied to Professor McGonagall!"

"If I have to enumerate your lies over the last six years, we'll be here a long time," he said acidly. "The troll in the bathroom?"

"Oh." She hadn't thought he knew that one.

"As I was saying, lying to Professor McGonagall or Umbridge serves a purpose. Lying to someone who knows when you're doing it does not."

Her eyes prickled and her hands clenched.

"You'd know all about lying, wouldn't you?"

He gave her a long dark look.

"I won't tolerate your tone, Miss Granger."

She leaned forward, lifting her chin.

"Sorry, I meant to say, you'd know all about lying, _sir_."

He sucked all the defiance out of her gaze with one flaming glare. Fidgeting, she lowered her head and looked away.

"Naturally," he agreed. "Deception of all kinds is a spy's stock-in-trade."

A sleeping doubt reawakened at this smug admission. He'd told her in their very first lesson that he'd convinced both Voldemort and Dumbledore that he was on their side and deceiving the other. Was it all a big trick then? How _did_ she know whose side he was on?

Her mind raced over the evidence. These lessons had been the headmaster's idea. He'd talked of making back-up plans for the future and told her that Snape would make any sacrifice to further their cause, that sometimes he had had to do terrible things. And he'd indicated that he trusted Snape completely. In fact, he'd said it again to Harry after he overheard Snape offer to help with Malfoy's "job". Apparently Dumbledore knew and endorsed Snape's plans.

But Snape knew all about lying, lying and deception of all kinds. What if he'd told Dumbledore to expect one thing and was actually planning another, something worse, something Dumbledore wouldn't approve? Something that would betray them all?

"The problem with lying is that people learn not to trust you," she said, feeling her way.

"Indeed. No one does trust me but for my two masters. And one of them, at least, is wrong."

"But Dumbledore wants me to trust you."

He pointed his quill at her.

"If you're asking how you know you can trust me, I told you at the outset that you'd have to decide that for yourself. We both know that he's far too trusting of the wrong people sometimes."

"But none of the others can lie with the truth like you do. He must have a very good reason to trust you or he couldn't be so adamant about it. And it can't be Veritaserum because you could fake it, or Legilimency because you're too good an Occlumens, or Imperio because that's an Unforgivable and he wouldn't use it."

Snape nodded, pushing away a marked paper without taking another.

"What, then?" she continued. "An Unbreakable Vow?"

He contemplated her for what seemed a very long time, running his finger around his firm, thin lips.

"A shared history," he said at last. "The secrets I've kept, the consequences I've faced, even the lies I've told on his behalf when truth would have served me better. And that's as much as I will tell you."

Her head reared back to study him with narrowed eyes.

"A shared history? I thought there'd be more."

He turned the quill over as if examining it, his face intent but shadowed by his hair.

Shrugging, he said, "What more does one need? Why do you trust your friends and why do they trust you? Because you've been forged in the fire together. You know each other's strengths and weaknesses as he and I know ours. Even mistakes strengthen the bond, if you face them instead of hiding from them."

She thought she knew what he meant.

"You mean, we'd be stronger if we faced our responsibility for Sirius dying?"

He frowned at the quill as if it was an accusing skeleton, his mouth tightening and relaxing. Puzzled, she waited through a long silence. He shook his head.

"Is that all you can see? The self-inflicted death of one man? How many innocents have died since you broke the stalemate and loosened the Dark Lord's hand?"

"I don't understand you." But she did. The killings hadn't started until their little jaunt to the Ministry forced Fudge to admit Voldemort was back. She slumped onto the chair and buried her face in her hands. "You mean that was us? Brockdale Bridge, Amelia Bones, Florean Fortescue, Ollivander, everyone?" she whispered despairingly.

"Do you think it was you?" he asked.

Emmeline Vance, Hannah Abbot's mother, the Puckles… Octavius Pepper, little Damian Montgomery… She conjured a bucket only just in time and drowned the upheaval of her mind in the upheaval of her stomach.

When she lifted her head finally, she found a vial and a handkerchief by her hand.

"Too much Dreamless Sleep?" asked Snape as she wiped her face. "Drink that."

She picked them up gingerly, expecting the potion to rekindle her nausea, but it tasted of nothing. She sipped it gratefully and rubbed again and again at her eyes.

"Miss Granger, you didn't kill them." He sounded almost gentle, but his knuckles were white and his shoulders stiff. "Death Eaters did. You're not responsible for other people's choices. Only your own."

The bitter set of his mouth told her he was thinking of choices of his own now, choices that hadn't turned out well. It gave her no comfort.

"If not for us, most of those people would still be alive."

"Perhaps. And perhaps if you hadn't ended the deadlock, the enemy would have had time to grow so strong while the Ministry slept that eventually thousands more would have died. We can't know. This is war. People die and we can't always stop them."

Sniffing, she wrung her hands and gulped, "We were so stupid."

"Yes, you were. But you're none of you killers. Even Potter."

**A/N All the victims (except the Puckles whom I invented for ch 7 and the Montgomery boy's first name) are canon. The "Dreamless Sleep" comment also references my chapter 7, whereI drew a non-canon link between too-frequent use of the potion and nausea.**

**The action, but no dialogue, is set in ch 24, Sectumsempra.**


	14. Whatever it Takes

WHATEVER IT TAKES

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP**.

No one could believe it. With a Reserve Seeker and a Reserve Chaser, Gryffindor still managed to beat Ravenclaw so convincingly that they snatched the Cup. Hermione kept glancing at the door as the party in the common room became ever more rowdy. How had Harry's detention with Professor Snape gone?

When he finally sidled in, everyone turned to look. Brandishing the Quidditch Cup, Ron triumphantly called out the score. Harry stood straighter, staring slack-jawed at a slim red-headed figure bulleting towards him. A moment later, Ginny was in his arms and they were kissing. And kissing. And still kissing. At last! Waiting for the penny to drop had become quite unbearable. As they slipped out, Hermione couldn't help hoping that Ron might be inspired to try the same stunt with her.

Smiling, she dodged her way through the crowd towards him, but if joy loosened Harry's inhibitions, it didn't work the same magic on Ron. Maybe if she'd waited for him to put down the Cup, so his hands were free – except he'd been holding it all afternoon.

"I wasn't expecting that, were you?" she asked. Not today, anyhow.

Ron's dear, freckled face screwed up in a grimace and he sighed.

"Better Harry than anyone else, I guess."

It was quite some time before Harry returned. Still blissed out on Ginny, he almost forgot to scowl as he described his endless, dusty afternoon, fretting about the Quidditch match while he sorted and recopied Filch's old punishment files under Snape's supervision. Typically, Snape had presented him with the records featuring the Marauders' offences, just to rub his nose in the trouble his father and godfather had caused in their school years. It was, thought Hermione, the clearest statement possible that to him Harry was just a repeat of his dad.

If only she dared tell Snape that it was proof of the opposite. He'd never have given such a detention to the Weasley twins – from all she'd heard, the true repeat of the Marauders in the present day – because rather than a punishment, they'd have seen it as an incentive to competition, a challenge to top their predecessors. (Although surely that swamp last year must have beaten any other prank in the last thousand years.) It certainly wouldn't have bothered them.

It was bothering Harry. She knew because he didn't want to talk about it when Ron, curious about the exploits of his brothers' heroes, asked for details. He never wanted to talk about things that bothered him. At least he had Ginny. Every time he got that frown in his eyes, he'd catch sight of Ginny smiling and the lines would vanish from his brow.

The four of them spent a lot of time together after that. Maybe that was why Ron never made a move on her, but Hermione doubted it. Harry and Ginny were sufficient to themselves. It wouldn't have been hard for Ron to get her alone if he'd wanted – she'd tried to wangle it a few times – but he seemed content to be just friends. Maybe that was all there would ever be. She said so to Ginny on one of those hot Saturday afternoons while Harry toiled in Snape's office and Ron played cards inside with Dean and Seamus.

"That's me more than you," Ginny said, scuffing the ground with her toe. "Ron's got to grow up sometime and reach out for what he wants – and that's you, before you get all depressed about it – but we all know Harry's going to go off and fight Voldemort and he might let you two along, but not me."

She had pulled out some tall blades of grass and was shredding them savagely.

"You know it's true," she added before Hermione could attempt any comforting lies. "He doesn't talk to me about his plans, he talks to you and Ron. And pretty soon, probably before the end of this year even, he'll decide he has to break it off to protect me. As if I was still a silly little kid telling secrets to a haunted diary."

Hermione couldn't argue. Eyes half-closed, she chewed on her lip.

"He loves you," she offered.

"Yes, but I'm still Ron's little sister to him. I know that's why he took so long to say anything after I chucked Dean, because he was wondering if Ron wouldn't like it. And sometimes I wonder if he'd even want me if he saw me as strong and competent. If it's just because of his 'saving people' thing."

"There's more to it than that," Hermione said.

_Rip, rip._ Ginny's hands were white-knuckled.

"Oh yes. I'm a Weasley. He's always wanted a family and with me he gets one."

Hermione shook her head.

"He's part of your family anyway."

"Exactly. It's all so convenient."

Hermione studied her friend's mutinous face.

"If that's how you feel, why do you want him?" she asked.

"How can I help it?" She rolled an unshredded grass stalk in a ring around her finger and stared at it through half-closed eyes, then sighed and let it fall. "Why do you want Ron? You know he's a total prat."

"Not a total –"

Ginny snorted.

"He is. You know he is." She scowled. "That's why it's so hard that, just when we finally get together, Harry's got all these detentions with ruddy Snape! Why couldn't he have stopped at one, like when they stole dad's car? Wasn't missing the match punishment enough?"

Hermione's lips straightened. Punishment enough? For half-killing someone? If Snape hadn't arrived in time, Harry might be in Azkaban now.

"He almost killed Malfoy," she said. Not that Ginny would care. Her family had always hated the Malfoys and after that diary business they had all the more reason.

"Good riddance that would have been. Malfoy's just like his dad and who needs either of them?"

"Ginny! He almost killed him!"

Her friend jerked a defiant shoulder.

"Yeah, so? He's got to kill Voldemort, doesn't he? Who cares how many Death Eaters he kills along the way? It's probably good practice."

Hermione caught her breath. They'd all thought about that aspect – how could they help it? – but no one had actually voiced it before.

"Malfoy's not a Death Eater. At least, not that we know for sure. And I don't think Harry would ever want to kill someone unnecessarily." She hoped not, anyhow.

But how could you tell when it was necessary? Harry had spared Wormtail's life in the Shack and Wormtail had run straight to Voldemort and brought him back. Cedric and Sirius and so many others would still be alive if not for Harry's mercy. Had that been wrong?

"_You're not responsible for other people's choices," Snape had said. "Only your own… People die and we can't always stop them."_

What choice would Dumbledore make? She couldn't believe he'd want Harry to grow callous, not after praising his pure heart and ability to love. Surely the "power the Dark Lord knew not" wasn't going to be a more effective killing spell! She wasn't convinced it would involve killing at all. The prophecy didn't actually say "kill", it said "vanquish" and "either must die at the hand of the other". Maybe after Harry had destroyed all the Horcruxes, Voldemort would just crumble into dust when Harry touched him. It sounded silly, but something very similar had happened to Quirrell, after all.

Perhaps because of Harry's detention, the Shrieking Shack confrontation was still running through her head at the end of her next training session. She couldn't regret having saved Sirius, not even by having hexed Professor Snape, but that didn't mean there was nothing to regret about that night. She'd helped cheat her teacher out of something that would have caused no one any harm and given him the only recognition he'd ever been offered. She felt doubly guilty about that now, with the knowledge that he'd never get another chance.

"I'm sorry about your Order of Merlin three years ago, professor. It was our fault you didn't get it and it wasn't fair."

He didn't even look up from his marking, but she saw a quickly-masked spasm of irritation cross his face.

"Life isn't fair, Miss Granger. You should know that by now," he said evenly.

"But you deserved it! It was brave to come and rescue us." More than brave, considering how it must remind him of the trick that could have killed him almost twenty years earlier. It was heroic. Not that she'd dare ever tell him she thought so.

"Brave!" he scoffed. "Bravery is just folly by a prettier name."

"It was! And you deserved that medal! You did capture Sirius single-handed and put him in their custody. It wasn't your fault they lost him."

He gave her a heavy-browed glare.

"Must you harp on this now? It's years ago; it's past and done."

Past and done, but not forgotten. And not forgiven either, she was sure. He wasn't a forgiving person. Maybe that was why she couldn't just let it go.

"Because you still deserve it! You're putting your life on the line for us all the time and you never get anything but a slap in the face," she complained.

"Or a three-way hex knocking me out?" he suggested sourly. "Leave it. It's immaterial. If I had one, they'd only strip it from me when –" He closed his mouth tightly and glowered at her.

"I'll testify for you," she promised, the words tripping over her tongue in their haste. "I'll tell them –"

"You'll do nothing of the kind. Not unless the war is over. The ambiguity of my situation is what enables me to spy. It keeps me alive to do my work – and nominally free."

Her throat clenched. She gulped hard.

"But – But if the Ministry think you've betrayed us, they might sentence you to be Kissed." She took a deep breath and continued mind-to-mind. It was easier to say these things in her head. She could pretend she was talking to herself, even though she knew he'd hear and respond.

_Would the headmaster save you? He didn't save Sirius!_ Twelve years in Azkaban without a trial, though the headmaster was head of the Wizengamot! And she couldn't forget how Professor Dumbledore had saved Remus that night, at Snape's expense. The Ministry would have arrested the werewolf as an accomplice, if the headmaster hadn't cast doubt on Snape's testimony - and so lost him his reward.

One corner of his thin mouth twitched into a half-sneer but he didn't answer. She tried again.

_What good can you do if you're dead?_

_If you testify, I'll still be dead. Do you think the Dark Lord would let me live any longer than it would take to torture all the Order's secrets out of me? _He gave her a narrow-eyed glare until her eyes fell. Idle to say he need not fall into Voldemort's hands when both knew the Ministry was riddled with his men. _Save my reputation later, if you feel you must. It will do no harm then._

She felt very small and cold as she watched his pen moving swiftly and mercilessly across some hapless student's homework. She couldn't leave it there.

_What use will it be to save your reputation if they've destroyed your soul? _

_I leave it to you to determine. Do you think, under those circumstances, you'd still wish to clear my name?_

_Of course!_

He raised an eyebrow.

_Oh. _How could he always do that? Show her the difference between what she thought she thought and what she really thought. She wasn't ready to drop the subject though. _But your soul! _

_It's one way off the treadmill. And what's gone cannot suffer. _

She wanted to shake him, but she didn't quite dare.

_How can you not care? You have to care!_

His eyes shuttered half-closed. His hand stilled on the paper and a blot of ink like a blood spot pooled under his quill.

_Whatever it takes. You heard the Sorting Hat; "Any means to achieve our ends." _

That had been her first year. She'd thought it sounded nasty and begged the Hat for Gryffindor. That hurt now.

- - - - - - - -

May rolled into June. Ron was still silent on the question of romance and Ginny had her O.W.L.s to study for. Sitting alone in the library one evening, after Harry had gone off in a huff when she tackled him about distracting Ginny from her revision, Hermione made a long-awaited discovery.

She'd given up on the books and was methodically going through the old _Prophets. _And there she was! Skinny, scowling and dark-haired, the 1947 Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones team, Eileen Prince! A "Prince" in the right time-frame to have used the Potions book, and it was even a girl. Hah, Harry, told you so!

Her fingers moved automatically to the edges of the paper to start ripping, but she paused. In return for her pass to the Restricted Section, she'd promised Snape not to vandalise any more books. Wait! He'd said books; this wasn't a book, it was a newspaper. And he couldn't complain about her twisting the letter of the law to subvert the spirit. He'd been at great pains to teach her that, and presumably he expected her to put his lessons into practice.

But Harry only scoffed when she showed him the following evening.

"You think _she _was the Half-Blood …? Oh, come on… Yeah, very ingenious, Hermione …"

"The truth is that you don't think a girl would have been clever enough," she retorted. She'd show him! She'd prove she was right. She'd check through the lists of old Potions awards until she found her Prince.

When she returned in time for curfew, Harry was gone. Apparently Jimmy Peakes had brought another one of Dumbledore's appointment scrolls, asking him to go to his office as quickly as he could. She stared wide-eyed at Ron. Was it the Horcrux?

They waited in the common room together. She found herself telling Ron about her parents, how she'd written to warn them of danger and how they'd written soothingly, heedlessly back.

"Look, Hermione," Ron said, "I can't tell you not to worry, because you will anyway. I do too, we all worry about our families. But how did you want them to react? Did you want them to pull you out of school and drag you off to Switzerland or something?"

They'd hate that, she thought, and so would she. She drew little circles on her knee.

"No. Just to take me seriously so I'd know they understood."

"So you want them to stay here and worry about something that might never happen and they couldn't do anything to prevent anyway?"

She smiled reluctantly. When he put it like that, it did sound silly. A little knot of anxiety in her gut began to dissolve. Ron didn't always know what to say, but every so often there'd be a time like this when he got it exactly right.

Suddenly Harry burst in and raced past them, barely bothering to speak when she asked if he was OK. Moments later, he was back, the Marauder's Map in one hand and a pair of balled-up socks in the other, racing through a muddled tale of Trelawney's sherry bottles, Malfoy's whooping, Snape's eavesdropping and a Horcrux that might be hidden in a cave. Dumbledore was going right now to retrieve it and so was he.

"Wha –?"

He wouldn't listen to any of their questions or remonstrations.

"– So you see what this means? Dumbledore won't be here tonight, so Malfoy's going to have another clear shot at whatever he's up to."

Numbly, Hermione accepted the Marauder's Map from his urgent hand and listened to his instructions. Watch Malfoy, watch Snape, try to call up the DA for reinforcements and guard the school. He thrust the socks, now revealed to be his tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, into Ron's hands, with instructions to share it between themselves and Ginny.

"Say goodbye to her from me. I'd better go – I'll be fine. I'll be with Dumbledore. I want to know you lot are OK."

And he was gone.

They stared at the door closing behind him then at each other.

"I'll get Ginny," she said. "You see if you can find Harry's galleon and call the DA to meet outside our common room. If not, I'll have to see if I can charm mine to do it."

Luckily that wasn't necessary, but when she emerged with Ginny, only Neville and Luna had turned up. They waited five extra minutes in case others had been delayed by curfew having begun, but it had always been rather a forlorn hope. They hadn't been carrying their own galleons around this year so why would anyone else?

There was just enough golden potion for each of them to have a little over half a teaspoonful. Hermione worried whether it would be enough, but as soon as she drank it, she was filled with confidence. They checked the Marauder's Map and found Snape in his office, but no sign of Malfoy.

"He must be in the Room of Requirement again," Ron said in disgust. "Hermione, you and Luna go wait outside Snape's office, and we'll go catch Malfoy when he comes out."

Luna! Well, as long as she didn't start hunting Fliffering Plimpies or whatever they were, she was better than nothing. She'd done all right in the Ministry last year and she'd known what to say – and what not to – after that horror Transfiguration lesson last December when Ron had made Hermione the classroom joke.

"Right, we'll be off then," Hermione said. "Good luck, everyone."

"You can be sure of that," Ron said. "Stands to reason, doesn't it?"

They laughed half-heartedly.

Some of the Professors were patrolling and they saw Remus and Tonks as well, but their luck was in – of course – and they weren't seen. Grown-ups – except Dumbledore, naturally - never thought you were old enough to help, even if you'd been fighting Voldemort since first year. But then, he'd encouraged them to start in the first place.

Soit was tonight, it must be – the night that Snape would do his "terrible thing" and become an outcast. She'd never sit in his classroom again, never hear that silky, sneering voice taking points from her friends and giving out detentions. She hadn't ever thought she might miss that.

And she still had no idea what he was going to do. Blow up the Divination tower? Drag all the Slytherin Seventh Years to join Voldemort? Poison the pumpkin juice? She listened with half an ear as Luna spoke of Klarts, Snorkacks and Scrimgeour's plans to turn Flourish and Blotts into a vampire cafeteria.

"Are you sure you haven't got a Wrackspurt making your brain all fuzzy?" Luna asked. "You haven't contradicted me once."

Hermione smiled wryly. Luna's chatter couldn't be more ridiculous than her own thoughts. Wild notions of somehow shaking Luna off so she could nip into his office to warn him – But he must know, mustn't he? Or he'd be out there patrolling with the other professors instead of sitting here waiting?

"Couldn't be," she said. "That wouldn't be lucky, would it, and I can feel that our luck hasn't worn off." And it was telling her that they were exactly where they needed to be.

Nothing happened till almost midnight. Then there was a shouting and a running and suddenly Professor Flitwick was racing past them into Snape's office before they had time to hide. He didn't even glance at them.

"Did he say 'Death Eaters in the castle'?" Hermione breathed. Oh, no! Ron and Ginny and Neville were out there! She hoped the Felix Felicis would last as long as it was needed.

Professor Snape hadn't been out of his rooms all evening, so that must have been Malfoy. Then what was Snape's part? Something worse? What could possibly be worse?

"Death Eaters?" Luna pulled her wand out from behind her ear and her protuberant silvery eyes seemed to darken, but she continued serenely. "Oh, that would make more sense. I was wondering why deaf adders would be blasting at midnight, when everyone knows they're more active at sunrise."

From behind the door, they could hear Flitwick squeaking, "You must come at once, Severus! The castle is swarming with Death Eaters!"

Then there was a loud thump. A moment later, Snape came out, wand raised. His eyes swept the corridor, passed Luna without a pause,and stopped on Hermione.

"Twenty points each from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for being out after curfew. Professor Flitwick has fainted. Go in and take care of him while I investigate. My help is needed elsewhere."

He continued in mind-speech.

_I should have known you'd be in the thick of it, as usual. Reckless, foolish – Don't get yourself killed and waste all the hard work we've both put in._

Hermione bit her lip.

_We've all sipped Felicis, sir. Don't get YOURself killed._

_Remember, don't defend me, whatever you hear, and don't tell anyone. I'll contact you._

She gulped.

_I promise._

_Didn't I tell you never to agree to a request when you don't know what it entails? _

Thought was quicker than speech, their conversation over so fast that Luna hadn't even noticed there'd been time for one. He turned away.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Five points each for wasting my time," he flung over his shoulder, already beginning to run.

"Yes, sir," they chorused, but Hermione stopped at the threshold to watch him. Would she ever see him again?

**A/N Snippets of Conversation from ch 25, The Seer Overheard.**

**"Fliffering Plimpies" is Hermione's contraction of Luna's "Blibbering Humdingers" and "Gulping Plimpies" in canon. Crumple-horned Snorkacks, Wrackspurts and vampire-Scrimgeour are also canon. Klarts and cafeteria plans are not.**


	15. Vigil

VIGIL

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

**Nearly all of the italicised lines come from Hermione's memories of conversations with Snape in earlier chapters.**

She didn't believe it. She sat in the Hospital Wing with Ron and Luna and the others, staring at Bill's mangled face that might never heal, listening to Ginny and Harry say the news in tandem, and she didn't believe it.

"Dumbledore's dead … Snape killed him."

He couldn't have. He'd never have done that. She didn't believe it. _When I do what I soon must, it will seem to you like the greatest betrayal_. Shebit hard on the inside of her cheekand clenched her fists unseen in her lap.

"I was there," Harry said. "I saw it… Dumbledore was ill… I think he realised it was a trap… He immobilised me, I couldn't do anything, I was under the Invisibility Cloak – and then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him –"

_Don't defend me. Whatever you hear. _She clapped her hands over her mouth.

"-more Death Eaters arrived – and then Snape – and Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra."

She was going to be sick. She was going to be sick. She didn't believe it.

_What if you saw me kill?_

And then, somewhere outside in the night, Fawkes began singing a lament. Hermione bit harder till her cheek ached and she tasted blood. Dumbledore was dead. Snape killed him.

How could he?

Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling at the Welcoming Feast, "Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak..."; Dumbledore, grave and quiet, locking her and Harry into the Hospital Wing, "Five minutes to midnight, Miss Granger, three turns should do it..."; Dumbledore,in his office,shaking with laughter, "Severus does love his little triumphs..."

A long time later, Professor McGonagall came in to say that Molly and Arthur Weasley were on their way and to ask Harry what he'd seen. She didn't seem to believe it either.

"Snape… We all wondered… but he trusted… always…" She collapsed into the chair Madam Pomfrey conjured and hurriedly pushed under her.

"Snape was a highly accomplished Legilimens," Lupin said harshly.

_Nobody trusts a spy. Nobody._

"But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!" whispered Tonks. "I'd love to know what Snape told him to convince him."

_A shared history; the secrets I've kept, the consequences I've faced, even the lies I've told on his behalf when truth would have served me better._

"I know," said Harry. They all turned to stare at him. "Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore he hadn't realised what he was doing, he was really sorry he'd done it, sorry they were dead."

Hermione's mouth opened – Snape was sorry they were dead? But Snape repented before they were dead, Harry had seen Dumbledore tell the Wizengamot that in his Pensieve in fourth year _– _and shut again.

_Don't defend me. Whatever you hear. What's gone cannot suffer._

She couldn't say anything. She didn't say anything. Not when Harry accused Snape of calling his mum a Mudblood. Not when McGonagall blamed herself for sending Professor Flitwick to fetch Snape to help them and allowed that he hadn't known they were coming. Not even when Harry explained how Malfoy had brought the Death Eaters through the Room of Requirement into the school by fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, twin to one at Borgin and Burkes. The one they'd watched him point at all those months ago, without ever for a moment suspecting it was the Cabinet he was pointing at. They'd thought it was something behind the Cabinet.

Ron and Ginny continued the story with an account of their doings. How they'd waited outside the room until he came out, clutching a Hand of Glory, and saw them. How he threw Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from the twins' shop – the twins! Those stupid, stupid twins! – into the air and guided the Death Eaters safely through, while Ron and Ginny and Neville floundered in the dark. How the three of them – luckily! - joined forces with Lupin and Tonks and joined battle minutes later with the Death Eaters heading for the Astronomy tower. How Gibbon had been killed by an Avada Kedavra meant for Lupin.

Then Harry turned to her to hear about her vigil outside Snape's office with Luna and she could be silent no longer.

"We heard a loud thump and Snape came hurtling out of the room and he saw us and – and –" She blinked back tears and continued in a high-pitched whisper, "I was so stupid, Harry! He said Professor Flitwick had collapsed and we should go and take care of him while he – while he went to help fight the Death Eaters –"

She couldn't look at him. _When I do what I soon must… You will have to decide whether to trust me. _Did she? Could she? He'd killed Dumbledore. Killed him. _It will seem like the greatest betrayal. Thousands of lives will hang on your choice. I hope you will choose wisely, choose wisely._ How could she when she didn't know what was true?

_Save my reputation later, if you feel you must. If you testify, I'll still be dead._

She sniffed.

"We went into his office to see if we could help Professor Flitwick and found him unconscious on the floor…" (Say it, say it. You have a part to play now and you can't express any doubts.) "…and, oh, it's so obvious now, Snape must have Stupefied Flitwick, but we didn't realise, Harry, we didn't realise, we just let Snape go!"

_Be glad that when you look back you won't bear the burden of knowing you could have stopped me – and given the enemy the victory… Forewarned would be forsworn. You couldn't have helped yourself._

He was right! Oh, he was right! If she'd known she'd have stopped him, she'd have done anything to stop him! Hadn't she once knocked him unconscious to save Sirius, set his robes on fire to save Harry? Could she possibly have done less for Dumbledore?

Had he known then, Dumbledore, had he sacrificed himself deliberately? Had he been waiting all year for Snape to kill him? Surely not, and yet –

He'd given Snape the Defense position, cursed that no one could teach it longer than a year, he'd trained Harry all year to take over for him – hadn't those Pensieve memories been a kind of goodbye? – he'd even recruited her to be a link between Harry and Snape when he was "no longer available". And he'd trusted Snape implicitly.

She remembered him telling her that being a spy sometimes forced Snape into situations where there were no 'good' choices, only lesser degrees of bad. He'd said he trusted him always to make the right one based on what he knew. What he knew.

'What did he know that we don't?' she wondered. 'What's Harry missing?'

"It's not your fault," Lupin said. "Hermione, had you not obeyed Snape and got out of the way, he would probably have killed you and Luna."

Hermione bent her head to conceal the protesting flash of her eyes. Like he'd "killed" Flitwick?

_Don't get yourself killed._ Almost the last thing he'd ever told her

And Harry continued building his case against the Snape of his imagination, Snape as master-villain.

"So then he came upstairs... and he found the place where you were all fighting..."

"We were losing," Tonks muttered. "The rest of the Death Eaters seemed ready to fight to the death. It was all dark ... curses flying everywhere ... the Malfoy boy had vanished... up the stairs to the Tower... more of them ran after him... one of them blocked the stairs behind them with some kind of curse –"

"None of us could break through," Ron remembered. "Jinxes, bouncing off the walls and barely missing us –"

"And then Snape was there, and then he wasn't," added Tonks.

_Never let an opponent distract you._

"I saw him run straight through the cursed barrier as if it wasn't there," said Lupin.

_I don't fight with you; I fight for you._

"I just assumed that he was in a hurry to chase after the Death Eaters –" McGonagall whispered.

"He was," said Harry, "but to help them, not to stop them – and I'll bet you had to have a Dark Mark to get through –"

Hermione's brain was racing as she catalogued the circumstances. Surrounded by Death Eaters, including a werewolf, with no possibility of Order back-up; Dumbledore ill – How did that happen? And when? – Harry invisible and incapacitated – No, Harry deliberately immobilised. Why had Dumbledore done that?

Did he know?

Had he planned it?

_It's coming, isn't it? A day when you have to do something terrible because it's the least bad option. _

_I believe so._

She remembered again what the headmaster had told her, what was surely just as true of himself.

_Severus will make any sacrifice to further our cause; what needs to be done he will do, whatever the cost to himself. _

Even that?

_Whatever it takes. You heard the Sorting Hat; "Any means to achieve our ends." _

Dumbledore ill, Harry immobilised, Snape surrounded, outnumbered, by Death Eaters – and an Unbreakable Vow to enforce his obedience – the least bad option. She gulped and clenched her hands again. And Dumbledore had not been afraid of death; Dumbledore would have made any sacrifice to keep Harry safe –

Lupin was talking again. The big Death Eater had fired off a hex that made the ceiling fall in and broke the curse, but before anyone could enter, Snape and Malfoy had come running out, followed by the other Death Eaters.

"We just let them pass," fretted Tonks. "We thought they were being chased by the other Death Eaters – I thought I heard Snape shout something, but I don't know what –"

"He shouted 'It's over,' " Harry said flatly. "He'd done what he meant to do."

What he had to do?

_I don't want to do this any more._

_Neither do I. But want is not my master._

There seemed to be nothing else to say. Outside, Fawkes continued to keen his lament. Hermione listened with half an ear, her chaotic thoughts swirling around her brain. And then Mr and Mrs Weasley were there, striding in past friends and children as if they weren't there, to stare again at one of their boys unconscious and near-death in a Hogwarts hospital bed. It was almost the night of Ron's poisoning again, except this time Fleur was with them.

"You said Greyback attacked him?" Mr Weasley said sharply, anxiously. "But he hadn't transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to him?"

Not even Lupin knew for sure.

"There will probably be some contamination. We don't know what his behaviour might be like when he wakes."

Mrs Weasley took Madam Pomfrey's ointment and her place, dabbing at Bill's wounds.

"Of course, it doesn't matter how he looks," she sobbed. "But he was a very handsome little b-boy – always very handsome – and he was g-going to be married!"

And suddenly Fleur snapped.

"And what do you mean by zat? What do you mean, 'e was going to be married?"

Everyone stared, even Hermione, shocked out of her obsessive reliving of every thing Snape had ever said to her in the last five months, by the unexpected tableau; Mrs Weasley at a loss for words and Fleur bristling protectively over her fiance.

"You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me? You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?"

Of course not! It wasn't Bill's intentions they thought would change.

"You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per'aps you 'oped?"

Hermione was not the only one to wince at the truth of that accusation. Fleur's welcome by the Weasley family had been barely polite and certainly not enthusiastic. Her eyes sought Ginny's, to find them seeking hers.

"What do I care how 'e looks?" Fleur flung at them fiercely. "I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk!"

Oh, Fleur! Hermione had an insane desire to laugh. Could anyone but a part-Veela have put it in those terms?

But it had done the trick. Suddenly the two women, always previously at loggerheads in their jealousy of each other, were hugging and crying, united by the love that had previously divided them.

"You see!" Tonks told Lupin. ""She still wants to marry him... she doesn't care!"

What?

"It's different. Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely... I've told you a million times," he added, staring at the floor as she shook him by the robes, "I'm too old for you, too poor... too dangerous ..."

So that was why Tonks had been so depressed all year. And it wasn't a Grim her Patronus had changed to; it was a wolf. A werewolf.

Then the Weasleys weighed in on Tonks's side, then Professor McGonagall.

"Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think there was a little more love in the world," she said.

Hermione couldn't help glancing at Ron, in case he took the hint, but he was quite oblivious. And there was no way she was going to grab him and try to shake some sense into him in front of everybody. Deep in her mind, black eyes burned cold and thin lips sneered.

_We are in the same room and we fight on the same side, but I am not with you and I never will be._

No, that was Snape, not Ron. One day, she and Ron would be together, she was sure of it. And until then, she'd just have to be patient and wait for him to be ready to say it.

Hagrid came in then, crying as hugely as he did everything, to fetch Professor McGonagall back to her office. The Ministry would be arriving soon.

"Please tell the Heads of House – Slughorn can represent Slytherin – that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us too," she told Hagrid, rising to leave and taking Harry with her for a quick word.

Hermione swallowed a large prickly lump and kept her rebellious eyes firmly lowered. Slughorn? Let that self-indulgent, self-absorbed slug of a man substitute for Snape, primping and preening himself, parroting words of strength and comfort he didn't feel or even understand? In place of Snape, who never said anything he didn't mean on at least some level?

_Who do you have to worry about? _

_Everyone – and no one._

There were no lessons next day. It was just as well, since she'd hardly slept. There were too many unanswered questions. Harry hadn't returned to Gryffindor Tower till after she'd gone to bed and, of course, Snape wouldn't be returning at all.

News had spread quickly overnight. Parvati and her sister were called home before breakfast even, and they were only the first of a stream of departing students. Lavender moped around, still making a point of avoiding Hermione, as she had done since Ron dumped her, but without a sidekick to grumble to, her mouth drooped and trembled so much that Hermione almost felt like making up with her. She might have tried, but she wasn't feeling quite generous enough to give Lavender the pleasure of rebuffing her.

Not all the students wanted to leave though. Seamus and his mum had a shouting match in the Entrance Hall when she came to fetch him, and she had to find a bed in Hogsmeade till after the funeral; no easy task, as far more witches and wizards were coming than going.

That first morning, before the carriage from Beauxbatons arrived and the delegations from the Ministry descended, was still quiet. Ron, Ginny and Hermione sat on the grass with Harry and heard it all. Well, not quite all. Ginny still didn't know about Horcruxes and it was quickly clear that Harry had no intention of enlightening her.

He'd shown Hermione the fake Horcrux and the note from R.A.B. – _I know I will be dead long before you read this, but … it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can –_ in a quiet moment with just the two of them. After Ginny joined them, he skated over his mission with Dumbledore, with the brief comment that it had been a wild goose chase, and dwelled instead on what had happened at Hogwarts on their return.

They'd apologised, of course, for doubting him all year. He had been right about Malfoy being a Death Eater – or as near to it as made no difference, whether Malfoy had taken the Mark or not – and he believed he'd been right about Snape. Hermione didn't argue. She couldn't.

_People hear what they want to hear. You think you know me? How if everything you've seen to the contrary was a lie? How could you tell?"_

Harry kept coming back to Snape, his villainy, his guilt, his fault – all his fault. Somehow for Harry it was all about Snape now. He hated him worse than Voldemort, with a deep, personal loathing that overshadowed his anger at the person who'd really killed his parents. Although he'd found a way to blame Snape even for that, of course. After all, it had been Snape who overheard the prophecy and passed it on to Voldemort in the first place.

Hermione nodded in the right places and kept her mouth shut about what niggled her, something Snape had said that time she'd argued his sincerity from the timing of his repentance.

_The histories were not aware of the prophecy. I was. Naturally, I knew which side to choose._

That just didn't make sense. If he believed the prophecy pointed to Voldemort losing, why try to change destiny by telling him it? Why not just defect then and there? Unless – Unless he'd heard the next line, "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal" and told Voldemort the first bit in order to speed its fulfilment. He was cold enough, pragmatic enough, ruthless enough to have sacrificed strangers to that purpose – and it would explain why Dumbledore believed his repentance, why Dumbledore trusted him – but then why be sorry?

_I found I couldn't fight on a side that kills babies._

Yet he'd exposed the prophecy baby to danger – No, he must have believed the prophecy wouldn't let it be harmed, so he hadn't repented till he realised that the parents he'd condemned to death were people he knew.

But why then? He'd never liked Harry's dad – and he'd scoffed at the life debt, told Harry that his dad had been in on the prank he "saved" him from, so that couldn't be it. Could it have been Harry's mum? Perhaps they'd secretly been friends? After all, they were Slughorn's two best students, as she'd heard all year at Slug club meetings.

"Harry," she asked. "When did Snape call your mum a Mudblood?"

To her surprise, Harry blushed and fiddled with his sleeves.

"I saw it in his Pensieve," he muttered, not looking at them. "Last year, in Occlumency lessons. My dad and Sirius were – were bothering him in school and she told them to stop and he said, 'I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!' "

"Bothering him?" Ron snorted. "I'll bet they were. Good on 'em! What'd they do?"

Harry scowled at the grass.

"Turned one of his own spells on him. From that Potions book."

Ron stared.

"You mean?"

"Yeah, he was the Half-Blood Prince. He told me so when we were duelling last night, just before he hexed me and Disapparated."

Hermione's mouth fell open and she closed it with a snap. Snape was the Prince? Snape was the reason Harry had kept beating her in Potions lessons all year? Snape was the "friend" Harry had been defending and finding excuses for, even after one of his spells had almost killed Malfoy and got Harry expelled?

_Why do you trust your friends and why do they trust you? Because you've been forged in the fire together. You know each other's strengths and weaknesses, as Dumbledore and I know ours. Even mistakes strengthen the bond, if you face them._

And that explained his knowledge of Archaeology and the IRA too. He was half-Muggle himself. Surely he couldn't have really believed all that Mudblood nonsense then or have meant it when he called Harry's mum one; he'd probably just been embarrassed at being saved by a girl.

After that, it wasn't hard, of course, to find the Prince in _Prophet _back-copies. She just checked through the birth announcements from September 1959 till she found him, born January 1960, to Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. So she'd been right, it probably had been Eileen Prince's book once. Checking back through the previous few years, she found his parents' wedding announcement too. It was tiny.

R.A.B. was another matter. There were some fairly well-known wizards with those initials, but no one that seemed to fit, no one with a connection to Voldemort. She wondered if Snape knew the name. She wondered if he'd tell her if she asked. She wondered whether everything he'd ever told her was a trick.

_If I saw a rabbit riding a tiger, I wouldn't think the tiger's disposition had changed. I'd assume it wasn't hungry yet... I tricked you into persuading yourself of my trustworthiness…It was a method of manipulating your trust…_

Harry wouldn't have wondered. When she tried to talk to him about Snape the next day, he was quite definite in his beliefs.

"He's just like Voldemort – ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name – how could Dumbledore have missed –?"

"I still don't get why he didn't turn you in for using that book," Ron interjected. "He must've known."

"He knew." Harry's mouth set in a bitter twist. "He knew when I used _Sectumsempra. _He might even have known before then –"

"But why didn't he turn you in?"

Good question, Ron. Why didn't he? He'd wanted so much to get Harry expelled in earlier years, and this year he hadn't even bothered to try.

"I don't think he wanted to associate himself with that book," Hermione said, feeling her way. "I don't think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he'd known." And there would have been no hiding it from Slughorn and Dumbledore, who'd known him as a child.

Yet why would that matter? Could seeing evidence of Snape's amazing facility and creativity with hexes at such an early age possibly have disturbed Dumbledore's unshakeable trust? It didn't seem likely. If Snape had known more hexes in first year than most of the seventh years, as Sirius had once told them, surely Dumbledore must have known.

"I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," Harry grumbled. "All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too –"

" 'Evil' is a strong word," Hermione said. The _Sectumsempra _spell had been labelled 'For enemies'; Voldemort would have labelled it 'For everyone'.

"You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!" he retorted.

"I'm trying to say, Harry, that you're putting too much blame on yourself. I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humour, but I would never have guessed he was a potential killer." Except in the sense that we're all potential killers.

_You didn't kill them. Death Eaters did. You're not responsible for other people's choices. Only your own. This is war. People die and we can't always stop them_.

"None of us could've guessed Snape would – you know," Ron said awkwardly.

They all fell silent. Hermione could not so easily reassure herself of her innocence. She should have been able to work it out, the clues had all been in her hands; the "terrible thing", the Unbreakable Vow, the two murder attempts, the headmaster's insistence that it was time for a back-up and that he was "feeling his mortality", Snape's question, "What if you saw me kill?" Why hadn't she seen it coming?

_I'm trying to teach you to think, Miss Granger. People hear what they want to hear._

The funeral would be tomorrow and the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour later. She packed that night, sneaking up to the Room of Requirement after dinner to retrieve the Potions book. It was obvious Harry wasn't going to, he wanted no more to do with it, but it was too valuable a resource to leave behind. She slept badly again that night, still wrestling with her questions. Could she trust Snape? Should she? What if she was wrong?

_You will have to choose whether you still trust me. Thousands of lives will be waiting on your choice. I hope you will choose wisely._

She awoke no wiser, certain only that she would follow Harry, as she had done for the last six years. That was a given, no matter what she decided on that other matter. He would surely not be returning to Hogwarts next year, whether it opened or no – he certainly wasn't going to waste any more time on N.E.W.T.s when he had a Dark Lord to fight and a fistful of Horcruxes to find first – and therefore neither would she. And neither would Ron, she knew, though Ginny would not be given the choice. Both girls were sure that Harry was only waiting for the funeral to be over to break things off, as Ginny had always known he would.

She would follow Harry and sooner or later Snape would contact her, either to continue as their spy, or to betray her friends through her trust. She would have to be ready either to collaborate with him or to help the Order capture him, according to whether she believed him or didn't. She'd promised.

_Didn't I tell you never to agree to a request when you don't know what it entails? _

She knew now, enough to see the stark consequences of her choice. If she was right, they might yet win; if she was wrong, she'd lose them the war. It was a terrible choice. She didn't want to make it. She had to.

_Refusing to choose is also a choice – and generally a choice for the worst. Do you choose not to choose, Miss Granger? _

Oh, if only she could. If only she could.

**A/N This takes us to the end of HBP, but there willbe either an epilogue or a sequel letting you know what Hermione decided. It probably won't be until after Passover though.**

Snatches of conversation are from ch 29, The Phoenix Lament, and ch 30, The White Tomb.


	16. Epilogue: Miles of Musing

MILES OF MUSING

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewer, Bellegeste.**

**WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.**

It was the longest, shortest trip home from Hogwarts ever. Longest for the endless silent miles of musing while the boys rehashed Snape's guilt; shortest for the suddenness with which it was over, and with it Hermione's schooldays forever.

She would never be going back to her first home in the wizarding world, not even as a teacher. How could she without her N.E.W.T.s? And even if they survived the war, would she still be young enough and free enough to study by the time it was over? She would never be Head Girl, her ambition since first opening the pages of _Hogwarts, a History. _Never again scrawl an Arithmancy equation across the blackboard for Professor Vector to pull apart or praise, never again set up her cauldron in class to learn and practise the finer points of brewing.

But that, at least, she need not regret. Didn't she have in her bag a private tuition course from one of the most brilliant brewers she'd ever met, Snape's own student text with all his corrections and emendations, side notes and scholarly suggestions? If she'd known all year of its provenance, how much more might she have learnt than Slughorn's laissez-faire classes had taught her? What an opportunity she'd been missing! Even the Muffliato they were using to keep their conversation private came from there.

Her mouth quirked. Another lesson Snape had taught her, without either of them ever being aware of it, though to be fair, he'd tried hard enough. But it took the accident of having, for such flimsy reasons, denied herself access to the best learning tool she'd ever come across, to teach her that knowledge didn't come only from textbooks, or indeed from books at all. Ironic that.

The rattle of the train on the tracks beat a steady rhythm in her head.

_Whatever it takes, whatever it takes,  
__You have to decide, you have to decide,  
__To choose not to choose, to choose not to choose,  
__Is the greatest betrayal, the greatest betrayal._

Beside her, Ron puffed out his cheeks and let go his breath with a Pfooh.

"Where do you think he is now?" he said.

"Kissing up to Voldemort, of course. Wherever he is." Harry's forehead was pressed against the window and his eyes were smouldering.

"Yeah, I guess. Licking his boots and kissing his –"

Hermione's hands curled unbidden in her lap.

"Ron!"

He looked at her.

"What? You can't still be trying to defend him."

"I'm not. I just – I can do without the image, all right?" Bad enough to know its likely truth without dwelling on all the crude hard reality of that scene.

Ron's brow wrinkled, then he laughed indulgently at her squeamishness.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'd like to see it though. Wouldn't you, Harry? Snape crawling with his face in the mud and getting Crucioed for his trouble."

Harry scowled.

"Do you want my visions?" he growled. "You can have 'em."

Hermione chewed on her lip. It was all up to Harry. Even Snape had said so. _It's always about Mr Potter. It's been about him since before he was born._ And yet, somehow she'd leapfrogged into a position of almost equal importance. Her desperate quandary, to trust in Dumbledore's wisdom, and by extension in his spy's probity, or to believe him the biggest fool in wizarddom, meant no less than the choice to strengthen Harry or to betray him, herself, her friends, everyone. How was she to know?

Nobody had trusted Snape but Dumbledore, yet he had trusted implicitly and thus silenced the disbelievers. Now everyone felt vindicated by events and yet, could it be so? Could the wisest, most powerful wizard have failed to see through a story so transparent, so blindingly, obviously faulty as the one Harry described?

She didn't believe it. Dumbledore had known Voldemort for a schoolboy villain despite his charm, Dumbledore alone, of all the teachers of Hogwarts. He couldn't have been tricked by Snape's charmlessness. There must have been more.

"Think we'll ever get a chance at him?" Ron said, staring out the window at cold, bright sunshine and empty fields.

"Eventually." Harry stared stony-eyed at the wand he was fingering. "When we get to the end, if we didn't before. Where Voldemort is, that's where he'll be." His mouth twisted. "I need an extra wand. Can't fight Voldemort with this one. Does anyone else make them?"

Ron shrugged, letting his head fall forward against the window.

Hermione looked up at the soft thud and said absently, "Gregorovitch, Lapierre and Van Eysen, but they're all overseas. Ollivander was the only –" She watched Harry's knuckles whiten and gulped, going on quickly, "There are probably some in Knockturn Alley. You know, unregistered ones, so the Ministry can't trace them. But I don't know how reliable – We'll go together as soon as we can. Tomorrow, if you like. We can ask Tonk –"

"No Tonks," said Harry flatly. "Just us. I won't risk another spy and I'm not asking permission. The Order will do what they have to do and we'll do what we have to do. Tomorrow then." He paused and shook his head. "Or maybe the day after. I can't go for my Apparition license yet, but you can, Ron."

Ron's head jerked up and his eyes went wide and worried.

"I can't! I haven't even been practising."

"You can do it, you almost made it last time." His face hardened as his friend shook his head. "You have to! Hermione can't Apparate both of us and having the Ministry chasing after us about it is the last thing we need. License first, then we'll see about wands. Tomorrow. And then four Horcruxes to destroy."

"Right," muttered Ron. "And after that you can zap them both in one go, eh? Voldemort _and_ Snape."

Snape had never even pretended to be pleasant. He'd made no secret of his hatred for James, for all the Marauders, members of the Order though they were. He'd tried repeatedly to expel Harry, to bully him and get him in trouble. Yet Dumbledore had trusted. There must have been a reason.

"_Shared history; the secrets I've kept, the consequences I've faced, even the lies I've told on his behalf when truth would have served me better," Snape had said when she asked him. "Forged in the fire together."_ They had been working together for a very long time and in all that time he must have seemed true for Dumbledore's trust to be so unshakeable. And she still trusted Dumbledore.

Her mouth twisted in wry self-appraisal. After everything she'd pondered and puzzled over and learnt during their lessons, did she still trust him for no better reason than that Dumbledore had? Snape had scorned that argument in their very first lesson and again and again subsequently, _"Does a thought never enter your head unless you read it in a book, Miss Granger? The headmaster has trusted many untrustworthy people…"_

Had he, though? Certainly there was no doubt that most of their Defense teachers had been untrustworthy, but had he been trusting them or had he been playing a long game, keeping them under his eye to reduce their freedom of manoeuvrability? Only he always waited way too long before reacting.

She shrugged. There was no way of answering that question now. She had a much more urgent question to resolve and she'd just have to do it without that insight into the headmaster's thinking.

"Do we even know where the Order's meeting now?" Ron asked. "I mean, with the Secret Keeper gone –" Dumbledore had held all the Order's secrets safe. What would they do without him?

Harry's lip trembled. He scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head, hunching a shoulder and turning slightly away.

"Your parents will know," Hermione said.

If she ignored Dumbledore's wishes, on the grounds that he must have been mistaken, and she turned out to be wrong, she'd be losing out on all the help Snape could give, information, protection, advice. He was an acknowledged Dark Arts expert and a wizard of great power and genius. If his old Potions book held the spells he'd created while still a student, how much more must he have created since? As Voldemort's right-hand man, he could warn them of danger, direct their search and tell them how to destroy the Horcruxes when they were found.

He could even help save lives along the way, by notifying of planned attacks, though not too often. Short-term successes could never outweigh the long-term result of their struggle. Her heart felt cold at the thought that people might be left to die, that she might even know and have to hold silence and let them, rather than delay or impede Harry's search.

Surely it would never come to that. Snape would only tell her what she needed to know, to assist Harry or to pass on to the Order. She would know after the event, but at least he would keep her from the much greater guilt of foreknowledge. The way he had about killing Dumbledore.

On the other hand, if she trusted Snape and she was wrong, he would use her to destroy all hope, to betray Harry and all her friends, and to deal Voldemort's opponents such devastation as to prevent an opposition ever rising up again to challenge him. And she'd die in the knowledge that she was the traitor who brought it about. The thought of her friends tortured to death for her trust, the accusation in their faces as she was revealed as his helper and accomplice, was a hot, spiked lump in her throat. If she trusted him, would she become him?

Put like that, the choice seemed obvious. On the one hand, they risked making no progress; on the other, losing everything. How could she trust him at such potential cost? And yet –

The train was slowing now. They were pulling into the station and soon they'd be getting up, slinging bags over shoulders and dragging heavy suitcases behind. This summer, for the first time ever, she'd be able to shrink them or lighten them to make the task easier, use her magic freely outside school. Her parents and Ron's would be waiting and soon they'd be explaining that "No, we're not coming home, we're going with Harry, to his relatives and beyond, to do whatever it takes to rid the world of a red-eyed monster."

And yet –

Her head said one thing and her heart another. Snape was a very fine actor and spy, no doubt, yet he _could_ _not_ have counterfeited the resolve in his eyes, his quiet acceptance of death as reward for service. She had been in his head and he in hers too often. She had seen him in his unguarded moments, those rare fleeting instants of unveiled eyes, unarmoured heart. And like the headmaster, she believed.

Trusting him was the stupidest thing she could do, cold reason insisted. It was a risk she must not, dare not take. But there was a reason she'd been sorted into Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw. And perhaps this was it.

**A/N If I do a sequel, it will be more of an action-fic than "Disguise". There's just so much plot to get through and Horcruxes are only part of the mix.**

**Gregorovitch is canon; Lapierre and Van Eysen are not.**


End file.
